Ashes
by gracesane
Summary: Falling isn't always simple - Hush, Hush from Patch's point of view
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: None of these characters is mine. Neither is the plot. It is _all_ Fitzpatrick's.

_AN: _Ok. So, I read Hush, Hush last week after buying it a month ago (and I can't believe I waited to read such a great book). Anyway, I love Patch dearly (who wouldn't-he's HOT plus he's an angel with a motorcycle and abs…I have a fetish for angels, motorcycles and abs ^_~) and thus decided to write his point of view for the book. Hopefully, you want to see what's going on in this bad boy's head just as badly as I do.

"_But what will not ambition and revenge Descend to? who aspires must down as low As high he soar'd, obnoxious first and last To basest things" Paradise Lost (bk. IX, l. 168)_

Prologue

Loire Valley, France

November 1565

It was a stormy night, perfect conditions for what he had planned. It seemed as if even _He _was trying to aid him. Really, who was he to go against what _He_ said _yet_ again?

The darkly colored boy shook his head, spraying water from his black hair against the monument. He had watched his prey with dedication for the past month and now knew him like the back of his own hand.

Chauncey, the "Duc de Langeais," was currently making his way from the banks of the Loire River, after doing deeds with a farmer's daughter. The dark boy frowned with jealousy, wishing he could only do the things his prey could.

There wasn't any fog that night, but there was an infinite darkness and a harsh downpour of rain. It acted as a black veil, hiding the dark boy in the cemetery until Chauncey's footsteps reverberated through the area. Chauncey was walking through the graves as if he were king of the world; his cocky attitude surrounded him like a dark light.

The boy, camouflaging as an angel on a monument, thought that he would not feel guilty at all. Chauncey was not a saint, not an innocent, and neither was the boy. He was already damned to existence on the earth, already stripped of wings, hurled down like common villain. One more sin wouldn't make a difference. He didn't want to be in Heaven anyway.

The boy stood to full height, catching the attention of the human boy Chauncey. The dark boy jumped down from the monument as gracefully as feather falling from the sky. His hair dripped rainwater onto his face, or at least he assumed it did. He couldn't feel it.

Chauncey's hand instinctively searched for his sword, and upon finding it said in the toughest voice he could, "Who goes there?"

The dark skinned boy almost smiled with amusement. Chauncey thought he had a chance.

"Do not play games with the Duc de Langeais" Chauncey attempted to warn the boy again. It was to no avail, for the boy could sense the fear radiating off of Chauncey in waves. "I asked for your name. Give it," he ordered.

"Duc? The boy, still amused, asked as he leaned against a tree. "Or bastard?"

He didn't flinch when Chauncey drew his sword, didn't move. "Take it back!" Chauncey demanded, both angry and nervous. "My father was the Duc of Langeais. I'm the Duc of Langeais now."

The words sounded flimsy to the boy. He corrected Chauncey nonchalantly with a shake of his head. "Your father wasn't the old duc." He enjoyed the angry that seeped out of Chauncey. He was an easy prey.

Chauncey pointed his sword at the boy, his arm shaking with a mixture of outrage and hidden doubt. "And _your_ father?" The boy watched as Chauncey wiped the rain from his face and said in a low voice, "I'll ask once more. Who are you?"

The boy was beginning to tire of the game. He moved from the willow tree and walked up to Chauncey, pushing the silly blade aside. "One of the Devil's brood."

Chauncey, it seemed, was adamant in trying to live up to the name of a duc. "You're a raving lunatic" he said through clenched teeth. _If only he knew._ "Get out of my way."

The boy, aggravated and impatient, struck, making Chauncey fall to the ground in fake pain, that seemed excruciatingly real. The boy crouched down, allowing both of their eyes to be on the same level. "Listen carefully," he said, each word filled with power. "I need something from you. I won't leave until I have it." He stared at Chauncey with cold eyes. "Do you understand?"

Chauncey remained defiant, shaking his head, much to the boy's annoyance. He then tried to spit at the boy, but failed miserably as drool slid down his chin.

The boy grasped Chauncey's hands, burning them, and Chauncey cried out in pain. "I need your oath of fealty," the boy commanded, his voice as serious as death. "Bend on one knee and swear it." When Chauncey attempted to defy him once again, the boy made Chauncey's right knee buckle. Chauncey stumbled forward into the mud and then vomited into said mud. "Swear it." The boy forced pain onto Chauncey as a form of blackmail.

The boy saw Chauncey's expression change to one of realization, along with pain and anger. "Lord, I become your man," Chauncey spit out.

The boy released Chauncey from his invisible prison, feeling content. "Meet me here at the start of the Hebrew month of Cheshvan. During the two weeks between new and full moons, I'll need your service."

"A…fortnight?" Chauncey began to tremble with rage, but it was too late. He had already sworn an oath, and the boy had control over him. "_I am the Duc de Langeais!_"

The boy watched Chauncey with a smile. _Not anymore. _"You are a Nephil." _You are now _my_ Nephil._

Chauncey, not realizing the seriousness of the matter, spoke icily, "What did you say?"

"You belong to the biblical race of Nephilim. Your real father was an angel who fell from heaven. You're half mortal." The boy was looking straight into Chauncey's eyes, dark eyes against dark eyes. "Half fallen angel."

"Who are you?" Chauncey asked, his voice broken, but the boy had already turned around, his mission complete.

He walked through the rain, ignoring Chauncey calling out to him, "Are you-fallen? Your wings have been stripped, haven't they?" They had indeed, but the boy continued walking, knowing that the answer was obvious. "This service I'm to provide! I demand to know what it is!" Chauncey yelled through the rain.

The boy answered with dark, low laughter as he thought of the irony of it all. Not long ago, he had abhorred being enslaved by someone who ordered him around, who thought He was greater than the boy was. But now, it was the boy, the boy who had been thrown out of the sky like Hephaestus for rebelling, who enslaved a being.


	2. Chapter One: Only Holding On

Disclaimer: As much as I wish Patch were mine, he is not. T-T He's Fitzpatrick's, along with the entire plot.

_AN: _I thought it was hard writing a regular fanfic, but writing a novel from someone's point of view is extremely hard. I had to hold _Hush, Hush _open with one hand while typing with the other. Thanks to those who took the time to review. It made me smile considering I have a truckload of homework to finish tomorrow.

_Dreams are falling apart as we're only holding on  
Ambition gets old  
When our hearts lie to us  
We gave our everything  
All for our wanted dreams  
We gave our everything_

_~Eyes Set to Kill_

"_do they only stand By ignorance, is that their happy state, The proof of their obedience and their faith?__" Paradise Lost_

Chapter 1: Only Holding On

Smoke filled my nose as I breathed in the humid August air. I looked down at my hand, the cards I held, and considered by options, while leaning back in my chair and simultaneously observing the other players. I had the five of spades, the nine of spades, and the ace of hearts among other cards. We were playing Texas Hold 'Em and I was banking on winning something valuable. I could smell fear and apprehension like a bloodhound chasing a wolf as I glanced at the other men gathered around the table. With a grin, I pushed a small stack of chips into the pile accumulating in the middle of the table.

Bo's Arcade was my part-time abode. I could often be found there playing poker, pool, and the occasional backgammon. The gambling aspect of Bo's was a large part of what drew me to it. I was an expert gambler, something I picked up when I came to Earth. Even in earlier years, others of my kind knew to find me playing passe-dix and piquet. I figured since I had already gambled my status away there was nothing much left to lose. However, nothing left to gain either.

When I heard footsteps trudging down the stairs, I had the instinctual sense that there was a message for me. The arcade manager stood beside me and said, "Someone upstairs wants a word with you." There was no in depth information. I raised my eyebrows prompting him to tell me who, not dignifying him with a verbal response. "She wouldn't give her name." He looked and sounded apologetic for interrupting my game for a silly girl. "I asked a couple of times," he continued defensively, "I told her you were in a private game, but she wouldn't leave." He looked at me and hesitantly said, "I can throw her out if you want."

I won't lie- I was curious who was so adamant on seeing me. "No. Send her down." After playing out my hand and gathering my chips, I slid my chair out and stood up. "I'm out." I walked across the room to the comforting pool table that was closest to the stairs and waited with my hands nonchalantly in my pockets. My position allowed me a clear view of whoever the stranger was and ensured a quick meeting.

A light echo of footsteps vibrated down the dark staircase and I watched like a hawk. I felt my face rearrange into an expression of surprise, but I was able to quickly capture the surprise and form a blank mask. I stared at the girl warily. She walked down the stairs with a sham aura of innocence, her long, straight, blond hair hanging down her back and reaching her waist. She had on a pink tank top, painted jeans and no shoes. She was sucking on a lollipop to complete the innocent look.

I wasn't fooled.

"Dabria?"

"How have you been?" She smiled coyly, her old tricks once again resurfacing. She tossed the lollipop into the trash signaling that she was ready for the serious talk. I watched her every movement, trying to decipher her motives.

"What are you doing here?" She wasn't paying me a courtesy visit on Earth. I knew her well and knew by instinct that she had a selfish purpose.

"I sneaked out." Dabria's coy smile became even coyer. It twisted into something I assume she supposed was bashful. Perhaps to someone else it would have looked bashful, but to me it was an act. "I had to see you again. I've been trying for a long time, but security-well, you know. It's not exactly lax." I almost laughed at the understatement. "Your kind and my kind- we aren't supposed to mix. But you know that." I did, but it really didn't matter to me. I'd rather be on Earth than with the rest of her kind.

"Coming here was a bad idea," I stated, a hint of a warning in my voice.

She ignored it and said, "I know it's been a while, but I was hoping for a slightly more friendly reaction." She pouted and I stared at her, preparing myself mentally for the blow she was about to deliver. She was a professional in the art of conceit and deception.

She stepped closer to me, making her advance on me like a lioness on a gazelle. Her voice dipped down to a lower, more provoking tone, and she said, "I haven't stopped thinking about you." Her sickly sweet words had no effect on my cold exterior. I didn't trust her. "It wasn't easy getting down here." She was trying to guilt me into talking. "Lucianna is making excuses for why I'm absent. I'm risking her future as well as my own." She was definitely trying to guilt trip me. "Don't you want to at least hear what I have to say?" Her voice became more and more disgusting as she talked. I waited, wondering when she would pull the innocent winks out of her bag of tricks.

"Talk," I ordered. I wanted her to expose her purpose on Earth.

"I haven't given up on you." Her voice was delicate and sensitive, wavering on the verge of tears. "This whole time-" She broke off, and for a second I almost believed her. "I know how you can get your wings back." She looked at me under hooded eyes, believing her acting would have won me over, but her cunning smile disproved her acting.

She switched from her vulnerable voice to her normal fiercely proud voice. "As soon as you get your wings back, you can come home." Her stare at me intensified and I wondered if I would even feel at home back there. Could I make it my home again? "Everything will be like it was before." I doubted it. "Nothing has changed. Not _really._" That probably meant that I would enjoy living there even less than I had before.

I observed a few significant flaws in her generalizations. For instance, it was much too good to be true.

"What's the catch?" My eyes skimmed over her searching for a single crack in the bastion she had created.

"There is no catch." There was no doubt in my mind that she was speaking lies. "You have to save a human life. Very judicious considering the crime that banished you here in the first place."

I asked the important question, expecting bull. "What rank will I be?"

Dabria's pale face would have been drained of all color if it could have. But instead, the confidence fled from her eyes and landed in mine. She was defensive. "I just told you how to get your wings back." Her tone was condescending and I knew I had hit the mark. "I think I deserve a _thank-you-_"

I was in no mood for a game of cat and mouse. "Answer the question." I smiled grimly, already knowing the answer. Saving a life? Did that sound like something I was interested in? It was a job for the low-ranked- for guardians.

"Fine," she huffed. "You'll be a guardian, all right?"

I looked up, the ceiling of Bo's blocking my view to the sky and closed my eyes. A soft laugh escaped my lips. _Not a chance, God. _I wasn't going to be tricked by anyone. Not even all the angels in the world could bring me back to Heaven as a guardian. I'd rather stay fallen.

"What's wrong with being a guardian?" Dabria angrily demanded, taking my laugh as an insult. "Why isn't it good enough?" I heard the underlying _'Why aren't I good enough?'_ in her question.

I looked her straight in the eyes and cryptically answered, "I have something better in the works."

"Listen to me, Patch. There's _nothing_ better. You're kidding yourself. Any other fallen angel would jump at the chance to get their wings back and become a guardian. Why can't you?" Her voice was desperate. The irritation rang through the humid air. The confusion danced in her eyes. The rejection killed her inside.

I wasn't about to explain to her my feelings on the matter. She didn't understand it then; she wouldn't understand it now.

There was something better. Something _much_ better than being an angel. Dabria used to look at humans and see pathetic mortals full of corruption and death. She saw their feelings fluctuate every second. She saw weakness. She saw the ginger-haired girl that caused my demise.

I saw the ability to live. _Truly_ live.

All these years I had been silently berating myself for letting something like lust ruin me. I had been foolish then, acting on my lust without a plan. But I had a plan now. I planned on being human.

I pushed myself up from the pool table and said my goodbyes. "It was good seeing you again, Dabria." Not really. "Have a nice trip back."

She made to leave but at the last minute grabbed a hold of my shirt and yanked me down in order to kiss me fiercely. I froze, not expecting her display of affection, not even feeling her lips on mine. Memories of us rushed into my mind, making me long for simpler times. And even though, I knew Dabria's cunning, I still softened to the memories, turning towards her. I softened to the pretend feelings I imagined could soon be mine as I brought my hands up and skimmed her arms.

"I should go," Dabria said as she pulled away, leaving me longing for touch. I was disgusted with myself but even more disgusted in her. "I've already stayed too long. I promised Lucianna I'd hurry." She rested her head against my chest for good measure, trying to use my soft side to her advantage. "I miss you." Her whispered word were just more lies. "Save one human life, and you'll have your wings again. Come back to me." She was begging me, "Come home." She stayed on my chest for a while, but suddenly broke away. "I have to go. None of the others can find out I've been down here." She emphasized the next words. "I love you."

She turned away from me and I mentally slapped myself for letting myself be distracted for even one moment, for letting her get to me like that. As angry as I was with myself, I was just as angry with her for playing tricks. I grabbed her wrist firmly.

"Now tell me why you're really here." I held a stoic expression on my face while my insides thundered like a storm. I looked at Dabria with hard eyes asking if she really wanted to mess with me.

Her face looked panic for the slightest of a second and I led her to the bar, her wrist still firmly grasped in my hand. I barely restrained myself from throwing her onto a stool and I took the stool next to hers.

"What do you mean, what am I here for?" She was stammering, her fear at my controlled rage overtaking her for the moment. "I told you-"

I wouldn't take anymore of it. I wanted my answers now, no excuses. "You're lying," I cut her off harshly.

Her mouth dropped, a sign of her panic. "I can't believe– you think–"

"Tell me the truth, right now."

She hesitated for a moment, contemplating her options- dealing with an angry Patch, or an angry God. She chose to appease me. "Fine." She looked angry at me for making her crack. "I know what you're planning to do."

It was such a vague answer I had to laugh. It could mean anything. Tonight I was planning on winning a brand new electric guitar- not that I really knew how to play it. Tomorrow I was planning on resting for a day. In a week, I was planning on seeing Rixon. Of course, there were some darker things in my plans too.

"I know you've heard rumors about _The Book of Enoch_. I also know you think you can do the same thing, but you can't." She was trying to spin the direction of the conversation back into her control. Trying to keep me from doing something I wanted.

I folded my arms on the counter and leaned forward nonchalantly. "They sent you hear to persuade me to choose a different course, didn't they?" I thought it over for a second and almost smiled. "If I'm a threat, the rumors must be true." I was filled with a certain feeling- an almost hopeful feeling with the slightest nuance of satisfaction.

"No, they're not." Dabria rushed to dissuade me. "They're _rumors._" I held back the urge to tell her that rumors aren't always lies.

I settled for telling her, "If it happened once, it can happen again."

"It never happened," she snapped. "Did you even bother to read _The Book of Enoch_ before you fell?" she challenged me. "Do you know exactly what it says, word for holy word?" It was obviously a rhetorical question.

I was just graced with pleasant news and decided to play dumb. "Maybe you could loan me your copy." I could feel the smile threatening to expose my feelings.

I almost laughed when she cried out, "That's blasphemous! You're _forbidden_ to read it! You betrayed every angel in heaven when you fell." Of course, I knew that. I belonged in Hell, the seventh and more importantly ninth circle of Hell should have swallowed me whole.

I couldn't stop myself from asking, "How many of them know what I'm after? How big of a threat am I?"

"I can't tell you that." She tossed her head from side to side almost reluctantly. "I've already tell you more than I should have."

I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I was curious; I needed to know all I could while she was still on Earth. It may be my only chance. "Are they going to stop me?"

"The avenging angels will."

The avenging angels were no joke. They were the fiercest beings in Heaven and even though I could probably fight them, it would hinder my plans. I needed something to stop them. A trick card up my sleeve.

I turned my eyes toward Dabria, a scheme forming in my mind. I looked at her, my eyes drilling into hers, imploring. "Unless they think you talked me out of it."

"Don't look at me like that." Her voice was shaking with effort. She was using all her strength to be courageous against me. "I won't lie to protect you. What you're trying to do is wrong. It's not natural."

"Dabria," I spoke softly, firmly, a purpose in my mind. Dabria was like pudding in my hands, a marionette to be bent to my will. A benefactor in my goal.

"I _can't_ help you." Her voice was quite but the distinction she made between _can't_ and _won't_ was like thunder to me. "Not that way. Put it out of your mind." I couldn't. It had been haunting me for months. "Become a guardian angel. Focus on that and forget _The Book of Enoch_."

I dug my elbows into the counter, thinking. What could she say that would not be a lie but not the truth? What would get me off the hook scotch free? I could pretend to want a spot in Heaven- no matter how lowly. I would need to keep an eye out on someone- or at least pretend to until I could come up with a better plan.

"Tell them we talked," I started, "and that I showed interest in becoming a guardian."

"Interest?" Her incredulous voice rung throughout the arcade.

"Interest." I nodded at her, expecting that reaction. "Tell them I asked for a name. If I'm going to save a life, I need to know who's at the top of your departure list. I know you're privy to that information as an angel of death."

Her face resumed to show an attempted confidence and will power. "The information is sacred and private, and not predictable. The events in this world shift from moment to moment depending on human choices." Humans were not subject to the omnipotent powers of God, as the angels were. They were flimsy creatures acting on passion not orders.

I could see Dabria's hesitance and tried to softly persuade her. "One name, Dabria." I contemplated batting my eyelashes but decided that was much too girlish for someone like me.

"Promise me you'll forget about _The Book of Enoch_ first." She looked at me begging, too proud to give up her position in Heaven, too weak to let go of me. "Give me your word."

She insisted in her mind that I was good. That I was trustworthy. "You'd trust my word?"

I shattered her delusional vision of myself. "No," she doubted herself, and contemplated over the truth of my words. "I wouldn't." She wouldn't give me the information then- not with out provocation.

I laughed at her naivety and hopped off the stool. Grabbing a toothpick, I walked towards the stairs, counting in my head.

I heard her words, "Patch, wait-" I slowed. "Patch, please wait!" I came to a stop by the bottom of the stairs and looked over my shoulder. "Nora Grey." She looked horrified at herself and immediately clamped her hands over her mouth.

However, I wasn't paying that much attention to her anymore. _Nora Grey_. I knew that name- it rang a bell in some remote place in my head. I sifted through everything I did the past few days and couldn't place my finger on where I had heard that name.

"How is she going to die?" I was genuinely curious. Perhaps she was the girlfriend of one of the men I played poker with. Perhaps I actually subconsciously listened to the humans' small talk.

"Someone wants to kill her."

"Who?" Maybe she was a secret agent on dangerous missions. I wouldn't be completely bored when I attempted to guard her.

Dabria covered her ears and shook her head violently, as if a headache had overcome her. "I don't know," she sighed. "There's so much noise and commotion down here. All the images blur together, they come too fast, I can't see clearly. I need to go home. I need peace and calm."

I concentrated on Dabria, forgetting my thoughts. Her words were only slightly true. Mostly, Dabria was making up excuses to save herself from slipping out other important information. She was battling with herself and needed persuasion.

I tucked a strand of her blond hair behind her ear, almost lovingly, and looked at her with the most despaired face I could muster. She shuddered at my touch and looked at me, nodding her head. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

"I can't see…I don't see anything…it's useless."

I tried again. "Who wants to kill Nora Grey?"

"Wait, I see her," Dabria become anxious. "There's a shadow behind her. It's _him_. He's following her. She doesn't see him…but he's right _there_. Why doesn't she see him? Why isn't she running? I can't see his face, it's in shadow." Her eyes flew open, like she just had a nightmare.

"Who?" I asked her gently. She was trembling.

When she finally raised her eyes to meet mine she whispered, "You."

I frowned, hiding my confusion inside. I walked away and left Dabria standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring after me aghast with knowledge.

oooooo

The moon was a little crescent, barely there. The portion of it that was there was hidden by dark clouds. Thunder had just rolled away, explaining the moist grass and the scattered twigs. Skulls, bones, carcasses of creatures long gone littered the edge of the grounds, which was bound by an iron fence.

The headstones of the cemetery stretched out in seemingly infinite rows, almost obscurely among the mist. I was sitting on top of one headstone, waiting, watching, just sitting.

"Moonlighting with the dead?" Rixon's Irish voice cut through the air. He was slouching against the headstone across from mine and was watching me. He stroked his thumb across his bottom lip, not feeling it himself. "Let me guess. You've got it in your mind to possess the dead?" He had a certain knack for making me smile. "I don't know," he said with a shake of his head. "Maggots squirming in your eyeholes…and your other orifices, might be carrying things a bit too far."

I cracked a smile for the first time in days. Dabria had put me in a serious mood and left me calculating about Nora Grey.

"This is why I keep you around, Rixon. Always seeing things from the bright side."

"Cheshavan starts tonight," he pointed out with apathy. "What are you doing arsing around in a graveyard?" He was asking why I wasn't off enjoying myself like I often did this time of the year.

"Thinking," I said.

"Thinking?"

"A process by which I use my brain to make a rational decision," I joked. Rixon still frowned at me.

"I'm starting to worry about you. Come on. Time to go. Chauncey Langeais and Barnabas await. The moon turns at midnight. I confess I've got my eye on a betty in town." He purred like a cat and I had to roll my eyes at his cliché moves. "I know you like them red-" referring to the human girl I had sacrificed myself for- "but I like 'em fair, and once I get into a body, I intend to take care of unfinished business with a blonde who was making eyes at me earlier." I remained crouching and thought. Sometimes, if I didn't know any better, I could almost pretend Rixon and I were two humans. We thought like humans, felt emotions like humans, acted like humans on a regular basis– the lack of physical feelings being the only difference.

"Are you daft? We've got to go," Rixon said impatiently. "Chauncey's oath of fealty. Not ringing a bell? How about this," he felt the need to explain to me my own history, as if I really was daft. "You're a fallen angel. You can't feel a thing. Until tonight, that is. The next two weeks are Chauncey's gift to you." Not if I could help it. If I could succeed, Chauncey's gift to me would be a lifetime of feelings. Rixon added "Given unwillingly, mind you," with a conspiring grin.

I glanced at him unsure about how to explain my master scheme. There was only so much he would support. I decided to start small. "What do you know about _The Book of Enoch?_"

I heard him scoff. "About as much as any fallen angel: slim to none."

"I was told there's a story in _The Book of Enoch_," I started hesitantly. "About a fallen angel who becomes human."

I was completely unprepared for his reaction. He keeled with hysterical laughter.

"Have you lost your mind, mate?" He pretended to be opening a book, still laughing. "_The Book of Enoch_ is a bedtime story. And a good one, by the looks of it. Sent you straight to dreamland."

I found nothing wrong in having a goal and working towards it. "I want a human body." I could almost hear the whiny, defensive tone my voice took and winced at the sound.

Rixon, being the fatherly figure, finally regained his composure and told me, "You'd best be happy with two weeks and a Nephil's body. Half-human is better than nothing. Chauncey can't undo what's been done. He swore an oath, and he has to live up to it. Just like last year. And the year before that-"

I cut him off. "Two weeks isn't enough. I want to be human. Permanently." I glared at Rixon. If he laughed I would make sure he didn't leave the cemetery without bruises.

He ran his fingers through his hair, showing his difficulty in composing his thoughts. "_The Book of Enoch_ is a fairy tale." I was sure that was disproven by my meeting with Dabria. "We're fallen angels, not humans." Not yet anyway. "We never were human, and we never will be. End of story. Now, quit arsing around and help me figure out which is the way to Portland." He looked up and scanned the sky, trying to figure out how much time he had left to go find the blond of his dreams.

I stared at him for a long moment wondering how I came to be stuck with such an insensitive prick. I suppose he did help toughen me up for a life of exile and he brightened my days, yet, his lack of confidence in me hit a nerve. I swung down from the headstone and landed right in front of Rixon. "I'm going to become human," I declared.

"Sure, mate, sure you can." He was slightly patronizing and grinning at what I suppose he supposed to be my naivety. I was adamant to prove him wrong.

"_The Book of Enoch_ says I have to kill my Nephil vassal." His eyes grew wide. "I have to kill Chauncey."

"No, you don't." He was becoming aggravated at me. "You've got to _possess_ him. A process by which you take his body and use it as your own." He explained this to me as if I were a child, a novice. I had been possessing Chauncey's body for years, centuries! If I really wanted to be a Nephilim for a two weeks a year I would stay with the arrangement that was presented to me. Rixon continued. "Not to put a damper on things, but you can't kill Chauncey. Nephilim can't die." As a triumphant afternote he added, "And have you thought of this? If you could kill him, you couldn't possess him."

I was starting to get exasperated with Rixon's inability to understand abstract thinking. Not everything had to be by the rules and logical. Some things were absolutely crazy, but that did not make it false. Somehow I would find a way to kill Chauncey.

"If I kill him, I'll become human and I won't need to possess him."

Rixon was also beginning to become irritated. He squeezed the inner corners of his eyes, trying to release the imaginary tension that would have begun to pound his head if he were human. He could tell I wasn't going to give up and was going to attempt to reason with me once more.

"If we could kill Nephilim, we would have found a way by now. I'm sorry to tell you, lad, but if I don't get into the arms of that blond betty soon, my brains will bake. And a few other parts of my-"

Throughout his spiel, I ransacked my mind, trying to find a proper argument that would win him over to my side, but couldn't find any that I hadn't already tried. I thought back to what Dabria had told me just days before, and I realized the very difficult quandary I was facing with Rixon's rejection of _The Book of Enoch_.

"Two choices." I effectively cut him off.

"Eh?" He stopped babbling about the blond and gave me his focus.

"Save a human life and become a guardian angel, or kill your Nephil vassal and become human." As my father figure and best friend- if you could say that- I trusted his judgment in the matter. We were both in the same boat, riding the same ocean of monotony. I was given the choice to take an adventure on wild ocean waves or remain dormant in a boring pond, but never would I choose to stay fallen.

Rixon shook his head at me. "Is this more _Book of Enoch_ rubbish?"

"Dabria paid me a visit."

Those simple words made his eyes widen in disbelief. He then snorted in an attempt to repress a laugh. "Your psychotic ex? What's she doing down here? Did she fall? Lost her wings, did she?"

I quietly laughed in my head, wondering why she hadn't been thrown out for being a pain yet, but answered with, "She came down to tell me I can get my wings back if I save a human life."

Rixon's eyes grew even more. "If you trust her, I say go for it. Nothing wrong with being a guardian. Spending your days keeping mortals out of danger…" It sounded like an attempt at selling a terrible job to an idiot. Even his voice screamed reluctance. His tone changed at the end as he thought about it a bit more. "…could be fun, depending on the mortal you're assigned." He was obviously thinking of the blond "betty."

However, his answer did not provide me with a proper response to my question. "But if you had the choice?" I prompted.

"Aye, well, my answer depends on one very important distinction. Am I roaring drunk…or have I completely lost my mind?" I was not amused. I was trying to have a serious moment for once and Rixon seemed to sense that after having his own quiet chuckle. "There's no choice. And here's why. I don't believe in _The Book of Enoch_. If I were you, I'd aim for guardianship. I'm half considering the deal myself. Too bad I don't know any humans on the brink of death." I did. But I also knew that the human in question would be a vital part of becoming human. I just didn't know how quite yet.

Could I really live as a guardian after all these years of dreams as a human? Could I really give up my ambition just like that? My eyes wandered to Rixon, who did not want any part of this scheme tonight.

"How much money can we make before midnight?" I asked lightly.

I sensed his relief for the change in topic. "Playing cards or boxing?"

"Cards." I had a mean poker face.

He smiled at me, eyes sparkling. "What do we have here? A pretty boy? Come here and let me give you a proper clatter." He came at me full force, hooking me around the neck.

I grabbed him around the waist and dragged him into the moist grass. I took a few jabs at him, ignoring the punches he threw at me.

"All right, all right!" Rixon cried out, holding his hands up as a sign of surrender. "Just 'cause I can't feel a bloody lip doesn't mean I want to spend the rest of the night walking around with one." He winked at me as if he were entrusting me with a secret. "Won't increase my chances with the ladies." I didn't feel like mentioning good looks weren't necessary when you had supernatural powers.

I smirked at his expense and asked, "And a black eye will?" knowing he wouldn't have been able to feel it, even if it did exist.

He quickly brought his hand to his eyes in a futile attempt to find his black eye. "You didn't!" His voice was a mixture of disbelief and jest. He punched my arm for good measure.

I started running out of the graveyard and called back, "Race you to your car!" I ran forward, not looking back at Rixon, knowing that if I did, I would begin to doubt my own dreams. The darkness ahead of me was like the dark path of life I was treading on. I ran faster ignoring Rixon's calls, determined to find a way out of the dark, determined to do anything it takes. I wasn't blinded by shining luster, nor was I blinded by obscurity. I wouldn't be one of those people who would happily remain blinded their whole lives.

oooooo

_AN: I hope that was not a disappointing chapter. I tried as hard as I could. I hope that it came out all right._


	3. Chapter Two: Russian Roulette

_Disclaimer_: I don't own Hush, Hush, unfortunately.

_AN:_ Thanks for all the reviewing. :) This chapter is short and well, short. I'm not really sure how I feel about it. More specifically, I wasn't sure how I feel about how you all will feel about this chapter.

* * *

_Take a breath, take it deep  
Calm yourself, he says to me  
If you play, you play for keeps  
Take a gun, and count to three  
I'm sweating now, moving slow  
No time to think, my turn to go_

_And I'm terrified but I'm not leaving  
Know that I must pass this test  
So just pull the trigger_

_~Rihanna_

"_Long is the way And hard, that out of hell leads up to light."- Paradise Lost_

Chapter Two: Russian Roulette

I stared at the building as I stood outside, the March wind blowing harshly through the trees, seeming to evade me completely. The structure was a modern school with a mix of classical stone. It was deceiving for when I walked inside the modern design jumped out at visitors.

A bright red sign pointed to a large elliptical office. Another sign said, "Visitors please sign in." I wasn't sure if I should go ahead but I did. I was already this far. Should I stop? After all the months it took to gather my wits and come to Coldwater?

It had been months after Dabria's visit. I half tried to push aside her words and half tried to investigate. I could be human-that much was proven my her confirmation of my hopes. But, at the time of her visit, I had no notion how to go about doing that. The only clue I had was rumors I heard about the _Book of Enoch. _The rumors were vague. Spilling your Nephilim's blood was impossible to do. It was like spilling my blood.

Yet, I had been investigating, obsessed with the possibility. The hope of my dreams, the hope of finally reaching the road that would lead me out of my hell to the light. I had searched high and low-mostly low considering my lack of wings- trying to dig answers out of the unlikely. I finally found a fallen who when he fell had met Beelzebub. He was powerful in the order of the Cherubim, underneath the Seraphim. Before Beelzebub fell, he had heard of ways to become human, though he himself never desired to be one. According to him, Nephilim offspring had Nephilim blood coursing through their veins as powerfully as it did in the Nephilim. The descendents were marked with the symbol of their ancestor, a permanent reminder of their heritage. Most of the human offspring have no idea what their forefather was.

I was able to put two and two together. But who was _that_ girl? Was I really willing to kill her with no proof of her heritage?

I walked into the front office to be greeted by the warm face of the secretary. She was aging with wrinkles forming around her eyes when she smiled. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, actually, I'm the new transfer student," I said as I stared her straight in the eyes, willing her to remember the memories that she never had. Her look of confusion was quickly replaced with her warm smile.

"Yes, of course," she gushed. "I completely forgot you were here before! How silly of me." She rummaged through the files on her desk. "Now where's that file of yours?"

She couldn't find it. She didn't have one. But I handed her an empty folder with my name written on it, showing her a file brimming with information, papers, and the works.

"Here you go sweetheart," the secretary said as she passed me a schedule and an agenda planner book. I smiled under my baseball cap at the endearment, finding her to be adorable in the old lady sort of way. I tried to imagine myself as an old human man and shook _that_ horrific thought immediately away. _'One step at a time,'_ I told myself, _'Become a human first.'_

I glanced at my schedule. Biology was third period and right now it was only first period. I had two periods to wait. I planned on only having one class with her-biology. It was a random pick, like a game of Russian roulette. I wasn't yet sure what I was planning to do but I didn't want to wait and miss my chance. I waited long enough, and sometimes chances only come around once.

All I knew was that this _Book of Enoch_ business was tearing me apart, figuratively. I could become human. Whatever price I had to pay, I would become human. I had to admit to myself that I was even willing to kill Nora Grey.

I stepped out of the warm office into the cold, empty hallway. It was first period, but I excused myself in order to explore school. It was a totally new experience for me. School had never been on my priority list during my years on Earth. It still wasn't.

My locker was close by, as the secretary told me, and I thought to go see it and drop off my school supplies. They were props. Every good actor had props.

I walked through the halls, almost marveling at the cold, glistening tiles, and the rows upon rows of lockers.

I opened the planner looking mystified at the little black and white map provided as an adult came out of his room. He was tall, six feet, and aging. He had gray hair, but was not balding. He didn't notice me standing there and I threw my planner back into my backpack. I could still hear his faint footsteps as he sauntered down the hall and I thought I heard him whistling the _Battle Hymn of the Republic_.

The bell rung, it's high pitched tone piercing my ears and causing me to relinquish my thoughts and study my surroundings. Students flooded out of their classrooms, laughing around me. I cut through them to my first actual class-United States history.

The teacher was a young woman, with short brown hair that bounced with enthusiasm whenever she smiled. She graced me with an enthusiastic smile and directed me to an empty seat in the back, just as I preferred it. She told me that by the time she was through with me, I would know everything about U.S. history. I failed to mention that I was _much_ older than her. I lived through the history she dreamed about. I could get an A+ in the class without even trying.

But, then again, anyone probably could. It wasn't a high level class. I was allowed to sit in the back and pay minimum attention. I wasn't planning on gathering much attention and the way my day was going, I wasn't getting much. I just had to survive for a few months at the most- a week being the bare minimum.

I reached into my backpack, the one I bought especially for the occasion of going to school and dug out a spiral notebook. Its pages were a crisp white, new and open for a story. I contemplated writing what was on the chalkboard, but I decided against it. My mind was still disconnected from the rest of the world. I scribbled the date at the top of the page and sat back.

_March 24_. Months after Dabria's little visit, I noted. It took months of wrestling with Rixon to finally come to Coldwater. He wanted me to give up my dreams. To forget all that I sacrificed and start anew. A clean slate. A blank page. Sort of like the notebook in front of me. He didn't understand that I was starting with a blank page. I was starting with a whole notebook of paper–paper inviting me to write my story the way I wanted it. I could write my own happy ending _my_ way.

Sighing, I realized I needed to show some sort of interest in the subject at hand. A laugh almost escaped my mouth as I read the words written on the chalkboard: _Battle Hymn of the Republic - the anthem of the Union during the Civil War_. It was comic relief at its best, snuggled right between two moments of drama.

By the time I reached biology, I was in desperate need of that comic relief again. I was walking on eggshells, preparing to finally see Nora Grey, who would either be my savior or my downfall. I walked into the classroom before everyone else for the purpose of introducing myself to the teacher. He was standing up front, wearing coach's clothing, a whistle around his neck. Coach McConaughy was his name, but according to him, everyone called him Coach.

I asked him where I should sit, while trying to sneak a peek at the seating chart on his desk. If I could figure out where Nora sat, I could position myself in such a manner as to be close enough to investigate, but not close enough to cause any kind of disruption to her life. There was no need to do anything rash just yet.

"There's an empty seat in the second row at that table," Coach pointed out to me in a booming voice that I'm sure he used on his team. "You can sit over there." I frowned at him and sat down, hoping that maybe if I figured out who Nora was and where she sat I'd be able to change seats.

I had no idea who this Nora girl was. There wasn't much for me to work with. I was frustrated. Sure, I have supernatural powers being an angel and all, but there's a limit. God made sure there were limits to our power. If there wasn't, wouldn't we all be little Gods? Wouldn't we be His equals? We could put thoughts into human's minds-something angels only did to act as a sort of conscience when bad decisions could be made. Most angels wouldn't dare interfere with human minds, in fear of being cast down to Earth. I couldn't read minds, nor could I delve into the mind of a human and pull out any information I wanted. I wasn't omnipotent, omniscient, omni-anything. Again, that was left to God- a sick twisted way of making sure he was our masters.

That _damn _bell rung again, causing a shift in the teenagers around the room. A boy moved away from the back of the room and came to sit next to me. He gave me a quick glance and a polite smile of recognition before turning to his side to talk with his friends.

There were two girls sitting in front of me, though I could only see the back of their heads. The one directly in front of me was a blond, sort of on the rotund side of voluptuous, as someone would say politely. The other one, sitting next to her, was a fiery auburn, more ginger than brunette, who was much thinner than her friend. I took a moment to appreciate her legs, all while cursing my preference for redheads.

All thoughts were erased from my mind. I snapped my head away from the ginger and to the blonde sitting beside her as I heard her say, "Nora Grey, you may just be the most naïve girl in our class." My eyes snapped back to the redhead, Nora, as she said, "He wanted to 'study' as in copy off my homework. And besides, I made plans with you that day, Vee."

I shook my head slightly in disbelief. Destiny was playing right into my hands without me trying. I sat back, acting nonchalant, while listening attentively to the chattering occurring before me. I was devouring the information before me like a piranha. I pulled out the blank notebook that I had during history and stared at the blank pages. It wouldn't be blank for long.

I had just started a dangerous game–a game in which I would be engulfed for who knows how long. I had no idea what I was doing, where I was going, who would get hurt, but I had pulled the trigger. Now I had to face its consequences.

I watched Nora like a lion watching its prey, for she was my prey. No one noticed that I wasn't taking notes on photosynthesis as Coach talked. No one asked questions and I hid under my baseball cap watching Nora and waiting.

A full forty-five minutes passed and I almost began to pay attention to Coach and his platitudes. I could have learned more about photosynthesis through watching grass grow. I would have been more entertained that way. The bell once again pierced through the thickening March air and my eyes flicked back to Nora as I pushed my chair out. She was standing, packing all of her things away as neat as a pin. As she dropped her textbook into her bag, her sweatshirt's sleeve was pulled up, revealing an incriminating birthmark.

It was oddly shaped to any mortal, but to me it was as plain as the sky itself. It was a mark I knew well. It was the mark I wore every Cheshavan. It was Chauncey's mark.

Chauncey's blood was flowing through Nora Grey's veins.

* * *

AN: Ok, so it's short and not in the actual book. I'm not really sure if this is how Patch would really feel at this point of his life, considering Hush, Hush doesn't edify me on Patch's point of view.


	4. Chapter Three: Battle of One

_Disclaimer_: I don't own Hush, Hush! I make no money off of this fanfic. If I did, I would skip school in order to write.

_AN:_ It's been a while since I've updated. I've been short on time considering all the work I get from school and extracurricular things. Better late than never though, right? (I'm actually procrastinating on homework by writing this, but shhh! It's a secret.) Anyway, thanks for all the reviews. They make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside…but am I supposed to be responding to each individual one? Is that correct etiquette? I really have no idea, so help a girl out?

* * *

_Try and stop me  
Try and save me  
I want to fall  
Try and crush me  
Take me, seize me  
I want to fall  
I want to fall…_

30 Seconds to Mars

* * *

"_The mind is its own place, and in itself / Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n." - Paradise Lost_

* * *

Chapter Three: Battle of One

"Of course," Coach said to me, slightly dazed, as I gave him my lab report on the photosynthesis lab. It was a half-assed paper, barely three pages in length. _Double-spaced. _In my few weeks of school, I had learned that "double-spaced" was a teacher's favorite word, and although I would rather write an essay double-spaced than single-spaced, frankly, I was sick of being in school.

Every passing day only tempted me more and more. I would kill Nora in the middle of class if I could– just to end the torture of school– but, unfortunately, I prefered to remain inconspicuous. Well, that, and once I became human, I'd get thrown in jail before I could blink. I needed to get close to her, close enough to gain her trust, lure her into a dark alley and kill her without anyone knowing.

And thus, I was feeling rather proud of myself for coming up with the perfect plan. We were starting a new section today on _"Human Reproduction (Sex)." _The ever-so _eloquent_ manner in which the topic was displayed on the chalkboard almost caused me to chuckle. Almost. Above the pink writing were Barbie and Ken, naked, except for a few _choice_ spots covered by leaves.

It reminded me of Adam and Eve, innocent and unaware of the temptation hidden, until it was too late to turn back. Except Adam and Eve were completely naked. But this was public school, and one could only allow so much to occur.

The bell rang and a few stragglers shuffled in, barely glancing at the board. Most of the male population did double takes and rushed to their seats to being what they thought would be a riveting class. But I wasn't paying attention to the naïve boys. I was looking at the even more naïve girl that had just begun to walk to her seat with her friend. Nora and her friend Vee, were talking about the chalkboard, no doubt.

Coach sauntered over to the front of the room, fiddling with the whistle around his neck. When he finally blew into it, the screeching noise made a few people flinch.

"Seats, team!" he yelled out as if this were the basketball court. He head was full of air, which I thought suited him fine. He actually reminded me of a basketball. In fact, his face even had an orange tinge to it. He had his gruff voice at his disposal today.

"It may not have occurred to you kids that sex is more than a fifteen-minute trip to the backseat of a car" he started off. I glanced at my partner, Andrew, or something or other, the boy who had been sitting next to me the past few weeks. He was making fun of coach with his friends sitting behind us. "It's science. And what is science?"

I could have rolled my eyes at Coach. He was all wrong. Photosynthesis was science. Osmosis was science. Fermentation was science. But _sex_ was _not_ science.

It was more of a pastime.

Some kids sitting behind me called out "Boring!" and "The only class I'm failing." I wasn't surprised that no one else was taking this seriously. Scratch that. There was one girl who was. She was probably one of the most serious gingers I have ever met. But then again, I never really met any redheads in semi-serious circumstances. Not in a while at least.

I watched Nora fidget when Coach called on her for an answer. "The study of something?" Her meek voice questioned. In my few weeks sitting behind her in class, I never heard her raise her voice in anger or annoyance. She always held such equanimity, focused on her studies like the innocuous young girl she was.

I saw her miniscule jump as Coach jabbed a finger on the table and demanded "What else?"

"Knowledge gained through experimentation and observation." Ok, _now_ she was just quoting the damn textbook. She really did take college _that_ seriously. No parties, no boyfriends, nothing. Coach still had all of his attention focused on her and judging by the way her cheeks started to grow pink, she had heard the few snickers that were making their way across the room.

"In your own words," Coach demanded like he was expecting her to drop and give him fifty pushups. I took a closer look at Nora's stick thin arms. I doubted she could even do one.

She was fragile. All humans were. Their lives were so evanescent. One false step and they could be gone from earth forever. They were glass. Easy to see through and breakable.

Nora didn't realize that. Considering what I had planned for her, she desperately needed to. But she was still just sitting in a boring biology class, working herself to the max.

I wondered briefly about what she learned in English class. It was completely irrelevant to the topic at hand (i.e. sex, or science, or whatever insignificant topic was being discussed), but it might do that unsuspecting girl some good to get her hands on some cavalier poetry before I got my hands on her. Living by the philosophy of carpe diem would be difficult to do when you're dead.

I looked up in order to study my prey, and I heard Coach repeating Nora's words. "Science is an investigation. Science requires us to transform into spies." He continued, "Good sleuthing takes practice."

For a split-second, my mind wandered to not so long ago England, where tooth hound was rampant. I shook the image out of my head, and focused on Coach. I ignored the lewd remarks that sprung from the back, instead willing him to commence with my plan already.

"Nora, you've been sitting beside Vee since the beginning of the year." Nora nodded her head, but anxiety rolled off her body in waves. "Both of you are on the school eZine together." She nodded again. "I bet you know quite a bit about each other."

I took a deep, unnecessary breath. Leave it to Coach. Give him an idea, and he'll execute it in the longest way possible. I waited while his eyes drilled into each and one of his students- excluding me. None of my teachers noticed me, and I preferred it that way.

He continued with his dramatic spiel, "In fact, I'll bet each of you knows the person sitting beside you well enough. You picked the seats you did for a reason, right?" I glanced at the boy next to me. Aaron, or something along those lines, looked back at me. I would bet a million bucks that he was thinking the same thing as I was: heck no. I was saddled with my partner, and although he's not a complete bore, sitting with him was no walk in the park.

I knew more about the girl sitting at the table in front of me than I knew about the boy next to me, albeit, the information on the girl was gained by pulling a decent Sherlock Holmes. I was a wonderful sleuth. It must have made me a great scientist, I laughed quietly to myself.

I was no boring scientist. My hair wasn't gelled back, nor was I wearing dorky scientific glasses and a lab coat. My scruffy black hair and dark, formfitting clothing evidently made me a poor choice for geeky scientist of the year. My low average in the class wasn't much assistance either. I was more of a mad scientist, but unreasonable better looking. If I was a mad scientist, I would need a master experiment. I became a little preoccupied with the idea, half listening to Coach, half thinking about my newfound identity as a mad scientist. It was a positively inane notion, but it had infested itself in my mind.

I glanced up for a brief moment in the ocean of time, just in time to catch Coach and Vee having an intense match. Coach was smiling– almost smirking, to be precise– at his cleverness. He was asserting his authority again. "I can pull this stuff clear up to the last day of the semester." It was definitely a smirk. "And if you fail my class, you'll be right back here next year, where I'll be pulling this kind of stuff all over again."

If looks could kill, Vee would have murdered Coach thrice. She was shooting fiery white lightning bolts out of her eyes. If she was alive during prehistoric times, that scowl would have been the cause of the dinosaurs' extinction. But Coach just whistled to himself, enjoying wielding power.

And then there was Nora. Just sitting there like always.

It angered me. A perfectly good human life, being wasted on _school_. On Nora Grey. And here I was pining away for humanity for at least the past who-knows-how-long. Here _I _was, about to commit murder, gruesome, gruesome murder. It wasn't like I was _enjoying_ it. It was a last ditch option for me. And then _she_ was just wasting a precious life, a life that I was willing to take from her without warning.

My emotions took a sudden turn for the worse, and my mind worked furiously. I vacillated between anger and pity. Did she deserve a warning? Did she deserve some time to _actually_ live? Or would it be best to take her life in misery?

I thought back to my fall. I had no warning of the fate that was reserved for me, the coldhearted intentions planned for me. To say the least, I would have enjoyed knowing or having a miniscule hint.

It was then that I vowed to make this fair– to both Nora and to me. If I was going to take a life, I might as well give her a chance to catch on, and allow myself to have a bit of fun.

I wasn't the fallen angel, trying to gain humanity. Not at all. I was the mad scientist, and Nora would be the experiment. How far could I push her? How far could I push _myself_?

I broke out of my reverie long enough to hear Coach bellow, "Every partner sitting on the left-hand side of the table– that's your left– move up one seat." That was my cue to move next to the bane of my existence, but I couldn't move. Not even as Coach called "Those in the front row– yes, including you, Vee– move to the back." I caught Nora turn to the back of the room, not only to watch Vee move back, but to watch me move forward. She was the bane of my existence, but she was also my one chance at freedom.

I snapped out of the pathetic state I was in and nonchalantly moved forward. Commence Plan Be-Fair-But-Ruthless.

"Hi. I'm Nora." Her voice wasn't quite as perky as she wanted and her smile was nervous. If she was trying to be welcoming she failed. I turned towards her and smiled back. It wasn't quite as perky as hers. It wasn't perky at all. It was a warning, and from the fearful expression on her face, she was received the message, loud and clear.

Coach smiled proudly at his new seating chart and began the lesson. "Human reproduction can be a sticky subject-" He was interrupted by a gratuitously loud "Ewww" from the majority of the class. Nora was a part of the minority. She was staring straight ahead, seemingly observing Barbie and Ken.

"It requires mature handling." Coach was unaffected by the lack of enthusiasm on his class' part. He must have gone through the same lesson at least five other times today. "And like all science, the best approach is to learn by sleuthing-" Was he encouraging us to do some _sleuthing_ on the subject on your own time? "For the rest of class, practice this technique by finding out as much as you can about your new partner-" Easy A. "Tomorrow, bring a write-up of your discoveries, and believe me, I'm going to check for authenticity. This is biology, not English, so don't even think about fictionalizing your answers." I wouldn't dream of it, not when I knew everything already. "I want to see real interaction and teamwork."

I turned my head ever so slightly towards Nora while finding a blank sheet of paper and a pencil. She was still facing forward, looking at the consistent Barbie and Ken. They hadn't change in the past five minutes, and thus were unlikely to do so. But Nora was waiting for them to do something radical. She was waiting for them to get up and walk out the classroom door. Or she was waiting for me to make the first move.

Her nose wrinkled, she checked the clock, and she remained facing forward.

I smirked to myself and decided to use her pride as an advantage. I began scribbling away rapidly, luring her attention to me.

"What are you writing?" Nora's voice was defensive. She suspected that I was writing horrid lies based on stereotype.

"And she speaks English," I added that to my already large list of Nora-isms. The subject of my list stared at me with narrow eyes. She attempted to read the list, but I hid it from her. In the weeks I've been at Coldwater, Grey had never raised her voice about a slight whining pitch. But she was getting angry.

"What did you write?" Her fire red hair seemed to spark with her angry, much to my amusement. There was a blank piece of paper, as white as snow and lined with sky blue lines, sitting in front of her. On a whim, I grabbed the paper, crushed it into a ball, and threw it. With a clear swish, it flew into trash bin a few feet away. Beside me, annoyance was consuming my partner. I stared at Nora and waited for her reaction, expecting serious exasperation.

She delivered. She huffed slightly, trying to control her feelings, and flipped open her notebook in rage. It made a large smacking sound on the smooth surface of the table. "What is your name?"

I didn't answer her, instead grinning at the entertainment. She wasn't going to get a word out of me. At least not a word that didn't provoke her.

After a few moments of silence, Nora looked at me. She saw my grin, her facing becoming disconcerted, and she asked once more, "Your name?" Her words came out shaky, and I knew she was flustered by me. She was easy to play with.

"Call me Patch." For a moment, she looked victorious at getting information, until I said, "I mean it. _Call me." _And then I added a wink for emphasis. Her mouth formed a little "o" and she had shake out of her shock.

She gritted her teeth before asking, "What do you do in your leisure time?"

"I don't have free time."

"I'm assuming this assignment is graded, so do me a favor?"

I leaned back in my chair with my hands behind me head. I stretched my legs, not used to having to sit for hours on end. "What kind of favor?" She looked astonished once again, making me assume she had never had contact with a teenage boy. I observed her, noticing a slight red hue gracing her cheeks. She was making this much too easy for me.

"Free time," I repeated, pretending to actually be serious. "I take pictures."

Nora was surprised once again. She probably wasn't expecting me to cooperate. On a level, I was playing along, but I was also playing hot-cold. I was attempting to confuse her, and keep her guessing.

I waited for her to write down "taking pictures" or something before I started up again. "I wasn't finished." She looked up at me, expecting more innuendo. "I've got quite a collection going of an eZine columnist who believes there's truth in eating organic, who writes poetry in secret, and who shudders at the thought of having to choose between Stanford, Yale, and…" I paused for dramatic effect as Nora's face grew as grey as her last name. "What's that big one with the _H?_"

I was referring to Harvard, and she knew it. The look in her eyes told me all I needed to know. She was mentally scrambling, searching for the reason behind my cache of information.

"But you won't end up going to any of them" I said darkly. She was going to be dead before she could even choose a college.

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she blurted out "I won't?"

For a split-second, I almost panicked. Almost. It would be a bad idea to say _'Of course not. I'm pretty sure colleges for murdered teenage girls haven't been established yet."_ It would be a fair warning to Nora, but that paled in comparison to being a horrendous idea. I had to think of an excuse and quick.

I opted for the less ghastly option, not letting an awkward silent settle between us. I ended up hooking my fingers on the cold metal bar underneath Nora's seat and pulling her towards me for the figurative kill. The legs of the chair made a squealing noise against the tiles, but the noise didn't bother Nora. She was actually bored, or feigning boredom. I pulled her slightly closer, moving her so close that I could feel the raging ocean of emotions inside of her.

"Even though you'd thrive at all three schools," I started, "you scorn them for being a cliché of achievement." Never mind the fact that Nora was a cliché of achievement herself.. "Passing judgment is your third biggest weakness."

The raging ocean turned into a boiling pit of lava as she asked, "And my second?"

"You don't know how to trust. I take that back. You trust– just all the wrong people." I could hear a little bell go _ding_ for my victory. I was banking on the terrible trust skills to make this gory task of mine easier.

I'm pretty sure Nora heard the bell too, except it made her angry. "And my _first?_" she demanded.

"You keep life on a short leash," I said in conjunction with my earlier thoughts of cavalier poetry.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Her voice held an attitude that I didn't think she was capable of.

I leaned closer to her, leaving a few inches between us and told her quietly, "You're scared of what you can't control." _Thus, you're scared of the future, taking chances, me._

Nora seemed to repress a shiver, and I had to repress a smirk. Even though she was generations into Chauncey's lineage, she was just as argumentative as Chauncey was that first stormy night he became mine. She glanced around the room, at anywhere her eyes could land. They lingered on Coach' desk, before she turned back to me, defiance flaming in her eyes.

She wasn't going to go running to Coach to ask for a new seating arrangement. I was impressed by her fortitude. Considering Coach would _not_ change our seats, I found it more compelling to be sitting next to a challenge, rather than a whimpering coward. At least I had some personal entertainment.

Speaking of entertainment, "Do you sleep naked?"

She looked flabbergasted, but replied with a strong, "You're hardly the person I'd tell."

"Ever been to a shrink?" I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear her attempts at fighting me.

"No."

"Done anything illegal?" _No._

"No." She replied curtly. "Why don't you ask me something normal?" She tried turning the tables on me. "Like…my favorite kind of music?"

I already knew the answer to that. I would constitute as a stalker with the information I knew. I told her straightforward, "I'm not going to ask what I can guess."

"You do _not_ know the type of music I listen to," her voice was waffling again, and I could almost picture a hyperventilating attack swooping down and clutching her any minute.

"Baroque." She frowned. "With you, it's all about order, control. I bet you play…the cello?" The chances of me winning the bet were very good. One hundred percent to be precise.

Yet, Nora insisted on lying to me. Smart girl. Trusting me wasn't high on her priorities list.

I kept barraging her with questions, immersing myself in the fun new game I discovered. "What's that?" I lazily tapped my pen on her wrist, on her birthmark.

She pulled her hand away from me as if the pen had just seared her skin. "A birthmark," she said matter-of-factly.

"Looks like a scar. Are you suicidal, Nora?" I was laughing internally, when she looked back at me. Our eyes locked for one second, and she pulled her chair away the tiniest bit. She didn't seem aware of it, and it was probably just instinctual.

"Parents married or divorced?" She lived with her mom, and Nora confirmed the fact. I was expecting divorced. After all, nowadays, everyone was divorced.

People today thought of "forever" as today and tomorrow, maybe a week from now if they felt as if forever was worth something more. I would kill for the brevity of their forever. I, on the other hand was stuck with the old fashion definition of forever, the one that meant until the end of the universe as we know it.

"Where's dad?" I asked her. I thought of the many different places: _New York, London, France, off with his new family, still married but off with his mistress_. The possibilities never ended.

"My dad passed away last year." I wasn't expecting that. Pure curiosity lead me to ask how.

I sort of wished I didn't when she flinched. "He was– murdered." Nora looked like she was in pain. "This is kind of personal territory, if you don't mind."

I didn't. Some things, you just didn't tell anybody. Sometimes, keeping the pain inside was better than letting it show. The worst physical pain could do was kill you. But emotional pain was more than a killer. It could rip out your heart, your very soul, and transform the blood in your veins into ice. It could freeze time for eternity, leaving you frozen with it.

I didn't know what to say, so I said the only thing I could say: "That must be hard."

A minute passed by in mutual silence, and mutual awkwardness, and on my part, sympathy. I bolted for the door the moment the blessed bell rung. I heard Nora call after me, but pretended not to know who she was talking to. I had enough of her for now. Predators _don't _feel sympathy and compassion for their prey.

"Patch! I didn't get anything on you." I froze. I was already outside the door, why turn back? Just to help her maintain her _four-point-oh_ GPA? I thought missing one assignment would be ok. She could suck it up for once. I tried to put my foot forward and away from the classroom, but it wouldn't move. Some powerful, unknown force was coercing me, bending me under its strength. I turned back, putting on my charming mask and marching right back to Nora.

I grabbed her hand, almost dropping it in surprise. It felt unusually ablaze in my hand, but I held on to it as I wrote down my number. There, on her hand were seven digits in red ink, staining her pale hands like incriminating blood. Once I finished, I waited for the inevitable witty retort she was bound to make. Shockingly, it never came.

I didn't doubt that she was _searching_ for something witty, but all her thoughts must have eluded her. She finally said, "I'm busy tonight."

I forced a grin and told her, "So am I." I ended the class on that note and did a redo of my escape sequence. This time I got away– but not before I heard her call after me, "I won't call. Not– ever!"

I sauntered through the bustling hallways of high school, avoiding the inevitable traffic buildups caused by teenagers who just couldn't wait one measly second to babble with their friends. They were talking about boys, girls, fashion, parties, drugs. The mundane subjects of teenage life. There was more to the world than getting so wasted that getting up the next morning was impossible. What I wouldn't give to be young and naïve.

I had English next, but I couldn't go. I wouldn't be able to swallow the classics being shoved down my throat. _The Catcher in the Rye_ wasn't a bad book _necessarily_, but it was a book that one had to be in a certain mindset to read. Right now, my mind was off in space, not wanting to land back on the ground.

No one minded when I just walked out of the building and onto my bike. No one noticed. The steady thrum of my bike as it started up didn't attract any attention. I left as unnoticed as I drove in that first day of school, my face hidden under my tinted helmet.

The words "Not– ever !" rung in my ears, seemingly louder than the wind whipping around me. I was sure Nora was going to eat those words.

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_AN: _And that was my stab at Chapter One in _Hush, Hush. _:)


	5. Chapter Four: If God Smokes Cheap Cigars

Disclaimer: I own nothing…except this story from Patch's POV. The characters, plot and such all belong to Becca Fitzpatrick.

AN: Sorry for the long wait between chapters. I just took my SAT I and II and my AP U.S. History Test within the last few months…and I'm probably going to be busy studying for the next round of SATIIs, doing summer reading, visiting colleges, getting scholarships, and working on AP summer homework…It's terrible being a teenager. The bright portion of my summer is going to the Harry Potter Theme Park (All the negatives have to be balanced somehow.)

Thanks for all the support in your reviews. (Thank you MsMayfly. I thought I completely missed something in the book, but I see I'm not alone in not seeing Patch as a mind reader.)

I'm a bit rusty at writing Patch's POV so here's an attempt at Chapter 2 in Hush, Hush. I hope you enjoy it, because I personally LOVE the scene at Bo's. (Free cookies to whoever can guess my favorite part.)

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There's barely time for pity and all the girls are just too pretty. –

Envy on the Coast

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"_For solitude is sometimes best society." –_Paradise Lost

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Chapter Four: If God Smokes Cheap Cigars

I went to Bo's after school. Scratch that. I went during school. I ditched school to drive around for an hour then go to Bo's. After my verbal sparring with Nora, I couldn't sit in school any longer. I didn't want to think about anything. The constant sitting and listening to droning teachers just drove me crazy. There had to be something fun at Bo's. There was always something fun at Bo's. Apparently, I was mistaken.

I've heard that school is supposed to make kids smarter. Obviously it didn't. Somehow, I forgot (or didn't even realize) that no one goes to Bo's at three in the afternoon. And no one comes in between three and four either. It was almost like the _Night Before Christmas_. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Unfortunately, that left me with nothing to do for another few hours. I would just have to sit at the shoddy table and wait. It was figuratively painful.

I kept glancing at the dingy clock, waiting for it to start laughing at me. It was playing games with me, and I didn't appreciate it. I looked at it over and over, willing it to move faster, go faster,_ please_ but it said it had only been five minutes. I glared at it. It was mocking me. The black clock with its red hands and obnoxiously large numbers was mocking me, telling me that at the rate I was going, I wouldn't be human for another million years.

Angrily, I ran my fingers through my hair. I was going stir crazy. I never understood how humans could spend their entire lives sitting down and doing nothing. Years of schooling spent sitting, years of working spent sitting, years of life _wasted_ on petty money-making schemes.

I glanced back at the clock and held back a groan. Hours more until I could do anything remotely productive. I folded my arms on the table top and hid my face in the small box my arms created, groaning loudly. If I was going to suffer, I might as well let everyone else in Bo's know I was suffering, but there was no one else.

My options at this point in time were limited. A.) Go back to school. Yeah, that would have been a great idea if I cared about school. B.) Find Rixon. Hey, I might have to search New York to find him, but I could sacrifice some time. C.) Do homework. Did _I_ really just think that?

I glanced down at my poor excuse for a backpack. It was forlorn on the floor of Bo's, abandoned and probably vying for my attention. Did I really want to do homework? Glancing back at the clock, I realized that I had few hours to kill before anyone of great importance came. Homework. I was actually going to do homework. The chances that I would become the next Tooth Fairy were probably greater than the chances that I would do homework. But here I was, Patch Cipriano, doing homework.

I pulled out my copy of _The Catcher in the Rye. _I looked at the paper cover, its faded red, and cracks, forming a web that I could trace with my fingers. No matter how many times I ran my fingers over the cracks, the tears and the damage, I couldn't feel them. I couldn't feel what was supposed to the ragged edges and soft paper.

I would have thrown the novel on the ground and crushed it, or better yet, burned it, but I didn't want to pay for it – or face the wrath of Bo's owner, especially when he saw that I set his floor on fire.

All I could do with the novel was read it.

_The Catcher in the Rye_ was surprisingly pleasant. I've heard students whining about how boring it was or how Holden was a complete nutcase. Yet, Holden understood that each moment in life was valuable. Sure, he may have been partially insane, but that was only due to his reluctance to grow up. Teenagers nowadays were in a rush to grow up. They were missing out on their lives. They were wasting their lives. Kind of like how I wasted the entire morning and most of my afternoon.

I got caught up in reading _Catcher_ – a shocker to even myself – and before I knew it, Bo's was filled to capacity with people.

"Patch!" A hand came down, filching Holden in the middle of his escapades. "Reading? Patch reading?" Cigar smoke filled the air as Vin pulled out a chair and plopped down across from me. "Ya ain't sick, are ya?"

Vin Merlo was 19 and a part time student. He went to community college during the morning and worked during the afternoon as a mechanic. Somehow, between the classes, the homework, and work, he managed to change into fairly nice clothes, wash his ginger colored hair, and come to Bo's every day to play some poker and a few rounds of pool.

I grabbed the novel from his hands, stuffing it quickly back into my bag. "Believe it or not, I actually read sometimes." I ignored his laughter. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Do ya know what time it is?" He grinned like a cat, even more so when I had to check the clock. It was half past seven. Abruptly, I stood up, surprising Vin and almost knocking over my chair in the process. "Where ya going?"

"Warming up." There was our pool table, unoccupied by other people and ready to be used. "You should get ready to lose."

"Lose?" he laughed, tossing me a cue. "I ain't the one spending time reading like a pansy."

I repressed the urge to snort. "I could beat you blindfolded."

"Cocky bastard." He punched my arm jokingly. "When are Bill and Tony getting here?"

"Do I look like I would know? Eight ball?" He nodded, and I grinned. I was a master at eight-ball. Well, I was a master at _everything_, but especially eight-ball. I was banking on winning something nice tonight. I glanced at Vin, noticing his gleaming gold and black watch, imagining how nice it would look on me, how nice it would _feel_ on me once I could feel it.

"Let's make this interesting." I stared Vin down, not needing to look at the balls while I set up. It was as natural to me as breathing. Eight ball in the center. Striped and solid in the corners.

He looked at me, following my line of vision to his watch. "No. Don't even think about it."

"Too late." I grinned at him, causing him to narrow his eyes in suspicion. "I'll play blindfolded." I leaned against the table as his mind furiously calculated the chances that I would win blindfolded.

The chances must have been slim to nothing. "Fine. If I win, ya hand over your shoes," he said, untying the bandana wrapped around his arm and handing it to me.

"And if I win, I get your watch." I tied the black fabric around my head and closed my eyes. I was going to play fair and square. "I'll even let you break."

I heard Vin move to the table. He hesitated. "How do I know ya can't really see?"

"You have my word."

"Yeah, 'cause your word's worth a lot."

I heard the cue ball hit the rack. The balls scattered, hitting the sides of the table. Vin must have gotten four balls to hit the cushions. I didn't expect him to pocket any balls. He didn't. He shot again. There was the sound of smooth balls colliding and ricocheting off each other. He pocketed a ball. He shot again, the balls flying every which way.

"Your turn."

I opened my eyes forgetting the bandana was blocking my vision. _Damn_. I couldn't see anything. _Ok. Deep breath_. I didn't need the breath but it helped my concentration as I leaned across the table, angling my cue stick different ways to see which way felt right. Right there. A good feeling filled my gut. I knew that right there would be a striped ball for me to pocket. It was a man's instincts. I pulled back my stick and drove it forward, reveling in the sound of the cue ball hitting the striped ball and the striped ball being pocketed.

Vin cursed under his breath. I shot again.

It was the longest game I had ever played. Mostly, it was my fault. I was taking my sweet time to get in all my balls and catch up to Vin. Shot after shot and a long while later, we were tied. It was my turn; only the eight ball was left. I lined up the stick and drove the stick into the cue ball.

Vin let out a sigh that sounded like relief. Wait, did _I _just lose? I tore off my bandana, my eyes flashing to the table. By some miracle of luck, I actually got the eight ball into the pocket. I turned toward a sulking Vin, who was fiddling with the fastener on his watch. I waited for him to finally take it off and hand it to me before accepting its sleek surface and gleaming face.

I took it from him, feeling a sense of empty victory. Yes, the watch was nice, but it wasn't really what I wanted.

"_That_ was a game." Tony came up behind me, patting my back. "Although, it was kind of long."

Tony, or Anthony Reeve, was 18 and a high school dropout. He had family issues and ran away from home. A fulltime working man, Bo's was his refuge from the rest of the world. He was a master at poker, but pool wasn't quite his forte. What he lacked in pool skills, he made up through his flirting skills. Girls coming through Bo's couldn't seem to stay away from his shaggy blond hair and blue eyes. Sometimes, I thought he would be so much better at pool if he wasn't flirting with girls the entire night.

"Shotgun Patch!" Bill claimed, causing Tony to curse about that being unfair.

Bill was Tony's antithesis. He was brown-haired, brown-eyed and a fulltime college student of 21. He looked like a complete nerd in his glasses, and sometimes, he acted like a nerd, but he was pretty cool underneath the surface – except for when people interrupt pool games. Bill was very serious about pool.

"How about some food before we start another game?" Vin asked, his hands on his stomach. "I'm starving."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I heard that losing can do that to people."

Vin glared at me jokingly. "Oh, shut up."

The three other men sat at the bar, stuffing their faces with drinks and junk food. I just sat on my barstool, slightly swiveling and twirling a straw through my fingers. The smooth cylinder, the bumpy edges, and the slight rise in the surface where white paint met red plastic all evaded my fingers. With a slight twitch of my fingers, I crushed the straw's neck, snapping it in half like a twig.

The boys enjoyed eating chips and drinking beer. They stopped questioning why I didn't have anything to eat. They probably thought it was some sort of illness such as celiac disease which would have kept me from having foods full of glutens. In a way, my eating disability was an illness. No angel can eat. Not human food at least.

Yes, in the Old Ages, humans gave food to angels, but it was simply an offering. Angels ate the food of angels: manna. I could almost taste it, a faint taste from centuries ago. It was a sweet almost mix of bread and cake. Angel-food cake looked almost like a cheap imitation of manna – light and foamy, under a layer of sweet syrup. But, manna didn't need to be coated in syrup. It was sweet by itself. It was more than sweet though. It was like eating warmth and happiness. It was like holding Heaven in the palm of my hands.

Fallen, I had no comfort in manna. It was forbidden for my taste buds to ever grasp a little of that sweet drug-like substance of hope. I was on my own in my personal hell, fighting for my right to be what I wanted, finding my own reprieves from the inferno.

A slight push shocked me out of my consuming thoughts. "Ready to play?" I was slightly confused, my head still consumed by thoughts of manna. Bill was staring at me, his concern disappearing when I hopped off the stool and grabbed a cue stick.

Vin set up the balls in the same fashion I had set up before. We were playing eight ball again, which was fine with me. I placed my keys and phone on the side of the table, watching with rapt attention how Vin and Tony played. Vin was shooting, aiming for a slightly difficult 9 ball.

"Patch!" I looked over to Tony who was pointing at my vibrating phone.

I snatched it up, watching the game more than paying attention to the phone. I answered with a simple, "What's up?" waiting to see who was calling.

I received a haughty reply. "I'm calling to see if we can meet tonight." I narrowed my eyes concentrating on who was speaking. It sounded remarkably familiar and within seconds I knew who had the nerve to call and talk like she owned me. "I know you said you're busy, but-"

"Nora." I could barely contain my laughter. I had forgotten about her in my little sanctuary at Bo's. "Thought you weren't going to call. Ever." If I listened closely enough, I could hear Nora huff in frustration, in an effort to maintain her pride.

"Well? Can we meet or not?"

Bill frowned at me. He wanted to win Tony's plasma TV, and my not concentrating on the game was, in his eyes, bad luck.

"As it turns out, I can't."

"Can't, or won't?" I could picture her face contorting in annoyance, her foot tapping in impatience.

Bill began to motion wildly at me in an attempt to cut the idle chit chat with Nora.

"I'm in the middle of a pool game." Bill reached for my phone, causing me to swat away his hand. Honestly, between Nora and a TV, I'd choose the TV any day. "An important pool game." It would do Nora some good to learn that not everyone is at her beck and call.

"Where are you?" She wasn't getting the message. She was probably going to track me down so she could get her trivial assignment done. If she had just swallowed her pride during class, she wouldn't be having this problem.

"Bo's Arcade." I tried to picture her at Bo's, and the image was difficult to conjure. She would throw a tantrum (similar to the one Bill was currently throwing) the moment she came in. "It's not your kind of hangout." But then again, she could use some loosening up, and Bo's was an excellent candidate for doing just that.

"Then let's do the interview over the phone. I've got a list of questions right-"

Bill snagged my phone, shut it off, and pocketed it. "There. Now we can play undisturbed."

Bill positioned his cue stick above the table, concentration written on his face, as I leaned against the adjacent table, apathetic about what Nora did. If she wanted to swallow her pride, which I doubt she would do, she would call again. I had no control over that.

With a purple four pocketed, it was my turn. I aimed for the blue two, satisfaction overcoming me as the unique sound of a ball being pocketed reached my ears.

We played like that for twenty minutes, the outcome of the game favorable to Bill and me. Bill won a TV, and I got a new pair of expensive boots.

"I want a rematch." Tony looked ill, as if he had just lost his most dear friend.

"Fine." Bill racked up the balls. "Losers first."

And in that manner, our second game commenced. It was a pity game; both Bill and I knew we were going to win. Again. Bill was counting on winning a new Blu-Ray player for that new TV. I personally didn't care what I was getting. I just wanted to win.

At first we let Vin and Tony win, letting their hopes rise. But as soon as they got down to their last three balls, we played for real.

It was my turn. I looked at the table, trying to figure out what shot I should make. I finally decided upon the most difficult one, after all, I loved a challenge. I leaned across the table, lining the cue ball and stick up with perfect precision. I pulled back my arm, then drove the stick for-

"Patch!"

-right into the table.

I whipped my head up and around to find whoever had called me. I ignored Bill's angry slur of profanities at my mistake, because right there stood Nora Grey. She had actually driven all the way to Bo's just to finish a simple assignment. She had actually swallowed her pride.

The cashier of Bo's, Bo Jr., was right behind her, an angry expression on his face. He grabbed her shoulder, demanding that she go upstairs. Now.

The panicked look on Nora's face told me she needed some rescuing. Not that I cared if she needed rescuing, after all, she was going to die soon anyway, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

"She's with me."

Bo looked at me, questioningly, probably wondering how I had any connection with someone so high-strung, so pushy, so bossy, so…Nora. With a barely perceptible nod of my head, his grip on Nora loosened considerably, allowing Nora to dash away from him and toward me.

It seemed that the closer she got to me, the more she weaved around tables, the less confidence she had. She was in enemy territory, and she knew it. My eyes were glued to her pale grey ones as she walked, shouldered rolled back with confidence. Her eyes told a different story. She was scared. Of me.

"Sorry about the hang-up," I apologized, walking around the table to where she stood. "The reception's not great down here." My hold on the pool stick tightened.

Her expression was one of disbelief, but in my defense, I wasn't lying. The reception wasn't great. The reception from Bill that is.

Speaking of, I tilted my head, toward the bar, telling my three fellow pool players to scram. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence for Nora, in which she subconsciously rubbed her birthmark, feminine thumb barely touching her delicate little, _breakable_ wrist. Bill was the first to go, purposely bumping into Nora as he went. He wasn't happy that his game was being interrupted. Tony and Vin glared at Nora as they passed her, upset that they had to wait to win back their belongings.

Nora, on the other hand, was glaring back. She wouldn't be treated that way. It was against her personal morals. I smiled.

Once the others left, she turned toward me, eyebrows raised in faux confidence. "Eight ball?" She glanced toward the doors and back at me, her posture straightening. "How high are the stakes?"

My smile widened. To be honest, it was a bit admirable of her to face her fears with such courage. Either that or she could just be completely oblivious to the fog of danger closing in around her. Considering her GPA, I opted for the first option.

"We don't play for money."

My smiles seemed to fuel her obstinacy. She dropped her bag on the edge of the table, as if she was going to stay here for a rather long time. "Too bad. I was going to bet everything I have against you." She was probably referring to all five bucks of her weekly allowance. Silly, naïve, innocent Nora. She already was betting everything. She just wasn't aware of it.

She held up a lined piece of paper, two lines filled in. I was assuming it was her assignment. "A few quick questions and I'm out of here." I leaned forward on my cue stick, skimming over what she wrote.

"Jerk?" That was a pretty accurate description. "Lung cancer?" Next to_ Will die of lung cancer_ was _Hopefully soon._ "Is that supposed to be prophetic?" I could probably add _sassy_ and _full of anger_ on my list of Nora-isms. Right after _Hopefully soon_ was a barely legible mess of ink. I could make it out as _Excellent physical shape._ Ah, so she was a normal teenage girl after all. I almost thought my charms weren't working on her.

She fanned the paper through the air, clearing away smoke left by Vin's cigar. "I'm assuming you contribute to the atmosphere." I glanced around, noticing for the first time in a while the smoky ambiance of the place. I guess I just got used to it. "How many cigars a night? One? Two?"

Jumping to conclusions – another trait to add to the list. "I don't smoke."

She put the paper on the table, a patronizing "Mm-hmm" emitting from her mouth as she tampered accidently with the game. The purple four rolled out of line as she wrote how I probably smoked a pack of cigars a day.

The four hit the red three, causing both to move in opposite directions. Bill would kill her. Nora didn't care. It was kind of cute.

"You're messing up the game."

She looked up at me, seeing my smile and smiling back before she realized what she was doing. "Hopefully not in your favor." Her smile faltered. She paused "Biggest dream."

She looked smug at that question, as if it would make me lose the little match we were having. I answered back without hesitation, thinking of that scribbled out observation on her paper. "Kiss you."

She tried not to look surprised, but a blush spread across her cheeks. "That's not funny."

"No, but it made you blush." She blushed even more but tried to hide it by boosting herself onto the table.

"Do you work?"

"I bus tables at the Borderline." She sat with her legs crossed, unknowingly making them more defined. "Best Mexican in town." I was shamelessly advertising.

"Religion."

I frowned. Did I have a religion? Do fallen angels have a religion?

"I thought you said a few quick questions." I quickly counted in my head. "You're already at number four."

She didn't drop the subject, asking more firmly, "Religion?" I wasn't expecting her to drop it. But I was stumped on what should have been the easiest question.

Satanism? No, I didn't worship Lucifer. I was just an angel that had fallen.

"Not religion…" No I certainly didn't have a religion. It was more of a "Cult."

"You belong to a cult?" Nora's eyebrows rose in surprise. Yes, a cult of people who believed in freedom, not absolute servitude.

"As it turns out, I'm in need of a healthy female sacrifice-" it was true "-I'd planned on luring her into trusting me first, but if you're ready now…"

Her faint amused smile vanished. "You're not impressing me." Underneath all the attitude and spunky confidence, Nora knew that something was wrong with me. My words hit home for her.

"I haven't started trying yet."

She slid off the table, trying to stand up to me. I looked down at her, not because I was being condescending. She was just a full head shorter than me, yet she held her ground.

"Vee told me you're a senior. How many times have you failed tenth-grade biology? Once? Twice?"

"Vee isn't my spokesperson."

A spark appeared in her eyes. "Are you denying failing?" It was an _aha! I got you_ spark.

No, she didn't have me. "I'm telling you I didn't go to school last year." Make with that what you will, Nora.

"You were truant?"

I set my cue stick on the table, motioning with my finger that she should come closer. She looked like she was fighting with herself, the question: _to slap or not to slap Patch?_ She opted for looking impassive, staying where she was.

"A secret?" I whispered. She leaned in slightly, unknowingly, to listen. "I've never gone to school before." Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, confusion marring that smooth face. Then the pale gray narrowed in disbelief.

"Another secret? It's not as dull as I expected." I was expecting it to be a complete drag, and a lot of it was. But Nora somehow made everything more interesting.

"You think I'm lying." It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that much out, but it was ironic that she didn't believe me despite me telling her truth. It took her a second to respond.

"You've never been to school, ever? It that's true-" she faltered for a moment "-and you're right, I don't think it is – what made you decide to come this year?"

"You."

I could almost hear her heart pounding faster, her breath catching in her throat, all because of me. She blinked a few times, trying to feign annoyance, but she couldn't hide her fear. I stepped closer while she tried to compose herself.

"That's not a real answer." Her voice was shaky and hoarse. She looked up at me, realizing that we were much closer than before.

"Your eyes, Nora." I stared into said eyes, unable to look away. "Those cold, pale gray eyes are surprisingly irresistible." I surprised myself. I wasn't lying.

I tilted my head to the side, looking at her as more than my prey. If I wasn't after her life, I might have been tempted to whisk away the innocent maiden and corrupt her in more ways than one. She had flaming hair, curled up like a doll's, high eyebrows over those smoky gray eyes, and a few barely there freckles sprinkled all over her nose.

"And that killer curvy mouth."

Her face flushed red and she stepped back. "That's it. I'm out of here."

But we both knew that wasn't true.

She froze in her spot, determined to figure out the conundrum that I was.

"You seem to know a lot about me. More than you should." What can I say? I did my research. "You seem to know exactly what to say to make me uncomfortable." It was in statement form, but she said it more like a question.

"You make it easy." It wasn't that hard to make her uncomfortable. She was so high-strung, such a control freak that she couldn't handle anything not going as she planned.

A new energy filled her. If anything, she looked even better when she was angry.

"You admit you're doing this on purpose?

"This?" There were a lot of this's that I was doing on purpose. Which one was she referring to?

"This-" She gestured at the air, at me and her. "-provoking me."

Ah. _That_ this. I smirked at her. "Say 'provoking' again. Your mouth looks provocative when you do."

"We're done. Finish your pool game." Anger radiated off her fire red hair as she grabbed my cue stick and shoved it at me. I just stared at it.

"I don't like sitting beside you." No, she _loved_ sitting next to my _excellent physical shape_. "I don't like being your partner. I don't like your condescending smile." Her mouth twitched as if she wasn't quite sure about that one. "I don't like you," she threw the cue stick at me once again, trying to convince herself more than me.

"I'm glad _Coach_ put us together." I took the stick, a hidden smile forcing its way onto my face. Coach didn't really put us together. But he didn't know that, and neither did Nora.

"I'm working to change that." I couldn't keep from smiling. It was a lost cause. She could work all she wanted, but this seating arrangement was here to stay.

She harrumphed, her hair rising slighting from the burst of air, allowing me to notice that there was something stuck in her hair. She was too busy fighting me to notice a rather large scrap of paper nestled between her curly locks. I reached up without thinking. Nora tried to move away, but I got to her first, picking out the harmless piece of paper. She looked at me questioningly.

"Piece of paper." She nodded as if that explained everything, watching my hand as I flicked the piece of paper to the dirty floor of Bo's.

"That's an unfortunate place for a birthmark."

I glanced down at the mark, a dark splatter of paint against my already dark skin. I pulled my sleeve down. No need for her to see it and get any ideas. The less she knew, the less chance there was of her knowing what I was and what I was going to do to her.

"You'd prefer it someplace more private?"

"I wouldn't prefer it anywhere." She frowned. "I wouldn't care if you didn't have it at all." I grinned. She didn't come off the way she wanted to sound. "I don't care about your birthmark, period."

"Any more questions? Comments?"

"No." Curt.

"Then I'll see you in bio."

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead she just grabbed her stuff and walked away. I watched her walk up the stairs, briskly, taking her anger out on the floor and the door and any other inanimate object within a foot radius.

"She looks like she's a handful." Vin came up from behind me, followed by Bill and Tony, sticks in hands, ready to continue playing.

"You have no idea," I said.

She was a real spitfire. A _smart _spitfire. A _pretty _spitfire.

"She must be hard to handle." Tony said, giving me a look that said _I've been there. Trust me._

A _hard-to-handle_ spitfire.

"I don't like her." Bill frowned. "She ruined the game. Everything was perfect, and then she came and caused an upheaval."

A spitfire that could change the entire game in a second. But I wasn't worried. There was no need to get worried. She was _a stubborn-to-the-point-of-stupidity_ spitfire.

No, I'll start to worry when I'm dead.

* * *

So, I read an excerpt of _Crescendo_, and the probability of _Ashes_ being completely off concerning Patch's point of view is high. His past is probably going to be revealed and my speculations are going to be failures at deciphering his life.

On a happier note, go read the excerpt and find my favorite part!


	6. Chapter Five: Breakable

_**Disclaimer**__: The plot and the characters are Fitzpatrick's. I am just taking over Patch's point of view._

_**AN**__:I really didn't want to keep writing this until I read Crescendo. But I still haven't read it, (I KNOW! I'm upset about it!) so there are definitely going to be a lot of errors in _Ashes_. I'm thinking I should just continue with my story and once I read the second book I'll make sure I'm sticking to canon. But, of course, this is all assuming that my retelling of _Hush, Hush_ is botched up when compared to _Crescendo_…Does this author's note even make sense?_

_Ok. So, I'm done with that rambling section of my note, and thought I'd get to the part where I talk about the chapter. Before you start reading, I'd like to apologize in advanced if you hate it. It's hard to write from Patch's POV after such a long. I would read through Ashes, but if I did, I would probably criticize myself a lot and stop writing altogether. I love _Hush, Hush, _and reading it over while writing Ashes._ _However, I also love the parts of Ashes that aren't in _Hush, Hush_, it gives me the chance to see what happens when Nora isn't around. But, then I get afraid that Patch is out of character. So for that, I apologize._

_If anyone sees any typos or errors in the Ashes, just tell me so I can fix it! Thanks!_

_Enjoy Chapter Five. (Then review, maybe?)

* * *

_

"_Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts? ...We are so fragile, And our cracking bones make noise, And we are just, Breakable, breakable, breakable, girls and boys." _–

Ingrid Michaelson

_"So many and so various laws are giv'n;_ _So many laws argue so many sins"- ____Paradise Lost_

___

* * *

_

Chapter Five: Breakable

Bio was quickly becoming my favorite subject, and not because of Coach's _interesting_ teaching style. No, Coach was droning on about something as usual, and not even the subject at hand was alleviating the boredom that began to set in.

Nora, on the other hand, was amusing me to no end.

The moment I walked into class, my eyes were attracted to her like a moth to a flame. She was sitting at our table, her red hair draped over one shoulder; she was writing furiously on a sheet of paper. I refused to believe that Nora was doing last minute homework. She was much too responsible to have forgotten her homework at home, let alone have forgotten to do her homework.

The scraping noise of my chair signaled to Nora that I was only a foot away from her. She looked up, sliding her paper over a few inches in an attempt to hide it. It looked like she was thinking of smiling, but then decided against it. Instead, she turned her body away from me, toward her paper, and continued writing.

Almost half an hour later, Nora hadn't moved a muscle, with the exception of her hand scribbling away on her paper. I had been watching her from the corner of my eye the entire duration of Coach's lecture, so I knew she wasn't taking notes. If she was taking notes, she'd be using her black pen with the sunflower on top, the one that she'd sometimes run back and forth against her cheek, as if she were feeling the soft petals of an actual flower. Nope, today, she was using a bulky blue pen that screamed "I'm on an important mission. Don't bother me. That means YOU, Patch." She hadn't even noticed that I had been tediously inching closer to her during class, and that our knees were almost touching.

After a few more minutes of writing, she had run out of steam, and her pen slowed to a stop. She lifted the writing utensil, using it to play with her bottom lip as she brainstormed something. She was definitely not taking notes.

I heard her gasp, and I turned my head to see what had happened. She was paler than normal, digging into her backpack for something important. I glanced at Coach, who was now done with his lecture and asking questions. When I looked back at Nora, she was swallowing pills.

I raised my eyebrows at her. Nora didn't do drugs. Period. She was too much of a good-two-shoes to do them, had too much ambition to let something like drugs get in her way. Stamford, Yale, and Harvard were all calling out to her and she wouldn't ruin her chances by becoming an addict. Of course, there was a miniscule possibility that my judgments were wrong. But, while judging someone isn't usually an accurate perception of what that person does or does not do, with Nora, what you see is pretty much what you get. Not that it's a bad thing, necessarily.

"So, it really comes down to survival of the fittest," Coach said. "After all, girls love guys like Brad Pitt. I'm sure there are certain traits that you like in a mate, right, Nora?"

I turned toward Nora, who seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. There was a moment of awkward silence, and I was caught between tapping her on the shoulder and laughing at her misfortune.

"Nora?"

Luckily, at that moment, she came back down to Earth from whatever planet she was on. Her mouth opened slightly as she mumbled "Huh?" Her eyes focused on Coach as he looked at her impatiently, waiting for an answer. "Could you repeat the question?"

Most of the class laughed at her, the outcome of over a dozen immature teens in one biology room. However, I would tolerate a million immature teenagers if the effect was seeing Nora's rosy pink blush.

"What qualities are you attracted to in a potential mate?"

"Potential mate?" Nora looked squeamish, like she was being asked about her sex life. But, considering Vee's laughter behind us, a question concerning Nora's "potential mate" was just as inappropriate as a question about the last guy she hooked up with.

"You want me to list characteristics of a…?"

"Potential mate, yes, that would be helpful."

Nora's eyes slid sideways and, surprisingly, glanced at me. She more than glanced at me. For a moment, she seemed to be appraising me, looking at my characteristics – a rather bold move for someone so stubbornly ingenuous.

My surprise was quickly covered by a flashy smile. I mouthed to her _We're waiting, _causing her to turn her attention to her hands. She laid them on the table, suddenly more interested in her chipping pink nail polish than her science buddy – me.

"I've never thought about it before," she told Coach.

"Well, think fast."

She bit her lip, probably trying to think of something, anything. "Could you call on someone else first?"

"You're up Patch."

It took me a split second to register what Coach said; two humans surprised me twice in two minutes. After a moment of pause, I responded quickly, too quickly for my own liking, although, after living forever, logic dictated that I should know what I want.

"Intelligent. Attractive." I paused, and before I could register what I was thinking I said, "Vulnerable."

Coach wrote them up on the chalkboard. "Vulnerable? How so?"

Vee found an opportune moment to but in, saving me from having to explain. "Does this have anything to do with the unit we're studying? Because I can't find anything about desired characteristics of a mate anywhere in our text."

He was half-way through writing "Vulnerable" in his chicken scratch writing when he paused to look at Vee. "Every animal on the planet attracts mates with the goal of reproduction. Frogs swell their bodies. Male gorillas beat their chests. Have you ever watched a male lobster rise up on the tips of his legs and snap his claws, demanding female attention? Attraction is the first element of all animal reproduction, humans included. Why don't you give us your list, Miss Sky?"

Her list was spectacularly predictable. She listed them off on one hand; one trait for each finger: "Gorgeous, wealthy, indulgent, fiercely protective, and just a little bit dangerous."

I couldn't help but laugh to myself; there were so many things to laugh at, so many things that were wrong with that list. But the most prominent was the fact that if Vee really did find her perfect guy, which was improbable to begin with, what were the chances that he'd like her back? "The problem with human attraction is not knowing if it will be returned."

"Excellent point," Coach said.

"Humans are vulnerable because they're capable of being hurt." Hurt physically, hurt emotionally. I bumped my knee against Nora's, the most vulnerable person I knew. Who else had a bio partner who was planning to murder him/her?

Coach nodded his agreement. "The complexity of human attraction – and reproduction – is one of the features that set us apart from other species."

This time, I attempted, however poorly, to suppress my laughter. Humans could be so naïve. Human attraction isn't complex. My years on earth and divorce statistics could prove that to me. A little less than half of the species mated for life, their original attraction transforming into a relationship based ridiculous sentimental notions. The other half based attraction on hormones and the carnal lust caused by the shallow list of traits listed by Vee.

"Since the dawn of time," Coach continued, "women have been attracted to mates with strong survival skills – like intelligence and physical prowess – because men with these qualities are more likely to bring home dinner at the end of the day." He grinned at the guys, his thumbs stuck up as if he were agreeing on a game plan for his team. "Dinner equals survival, team." He paused, waiting for something, maybe laughter, but continued when he got no response from his audience. "Likewise, men are attracted to beauty because it indicates health and youth – no point mating with a sickly woman who won't be around to raise the children." He chuckled to himself.

"That is so sexist!" Vee's voice cut off Coach's laughter. "Tell me something that relates to a woman in the twenty-first century."

"If you approach reproduction with an eye to science, Miss Sky, you'll see that children are the key to the survival of our species. And the more children you have, the greater your contribution to the gene pool."

"I think we're finally getting close to today's topic," Vee said. "Sex."

"Almost." Coach held up a finger, signaling patience. "Before sex comes attraction, but after attraction comes body language. You have to communicate 'I'm interested' to a potential mate, only not in so many words."

Coach looked at me, pointing me out. "All right, Patch. Let's say you're at a party. The room is full of girls of all different shapes and sizes. You see blondes, brunettes, redheads, a few girls with black hair. Some are talkative, while others appear shy. You've found one girl who fits your profile – attractive, intelligent, vulnerable. How do you let her know you're interested?"

Easy. I've done it a million times. "Single her out. Talk to her."

"Good. Now for the big question – how do you know if she's game or if she wants you to move on?"

"I study her. I figure out what she's thinking and feeling. She's not going to come right out and tell me, which is why I have to pay attention." That's the biggest mistake a guy can make, being too wrapped up in himself to notice her emotions. To figure out what's going through her head. I looked at Nora, trying to push away my current train of thought. She was still looking at her nails, nervously.

"Does she turn her body toward mine?" The way Nora does when I talk to her. "Does she hold my eyes, then look away?" The way Nora does whenever she feels my eyes on her. "Does she bite her lip and play with her hair, the way Nora is doing right now?" I ignored the laughter and Coach's comments. "She's game," I said in an almost whisper, wanting only Nora to hear, as I once again knocked my knee against hers. She blushed, this time a light red, either from my flirtatious provoking or from the attention the class had on us.

"The blood vessels in Nora's face are widening and her skin is warming," I continued, watching the red deepen. "She knows she's being evaluated. She likes the attention, but she's not sure how to handle it."

I hadn't heard her protesting voice since last night, but after my evaluation of her, Nora finally said something. "I am _not_ blushing!" Of all the arguments she could have stirred up against me over her behavior, she chose the most undeniable one: her blush, so visible that astronauts could have seen it from the moon.

"She's nervous. She's stroking her arm to draw attention away from her face and down to her figure, or maybe her skin." I examined both and conceded, "Both are strong selling points."

"This is ridiculous." She all but slammed her hands on the table, looked haughtily past me and everyone else in front of her, her chin stuck up defiantly. Her stubborn pride refused to let her be the butt of a joke. However, her need to keep her pride wasn't going to stop me from irritating her more.

I pretended to stretch, much like humans did in those cliché movie moments, and hung my arm on the back of Nora's chair. The class laughed at my flirtatious antics, but I could care less what they thought of me and Nora. I captured Nora's grey eyes with my own and I knew Nora understood my intentions. Behind my flirty façade, I sent the message that _I_ was in charge here, not Nora. She could attempt to get away from me, to rile me up, to find out who I am and what my purposes here are, but ultimately, she was at my mercy. She was _vulnerable_, and I let her know.

Expecting Nora to take my taunts lying down would have been stupid. She wrenched her chair forward and away from me, a little pout situated on her face. Coach's "And there you have it! Biology in motion" only made her pout more.

She wasn't going for the look-at-me-I'm-gorgeous pout; it was the last thing she'd try to do. But, I couldn't help but notice that the rosy color of her lips matched the still rosy color of her normally pale cheeks. To anyone in the classroom, the interaction between Nora and me looked coy, flirtatious, but to us, it wasn't a mere hormonal attraction. On my part, it was the dark magnetism between a predator and its prey and a fascination with Nora's capriciousness. It was a game. On Nora's part, it was her fear of me versus the enthrallment precipitated by an unsolved mystery.

Coach dictated our homework to us just as the bell rang. I pushed back my chair, standing up, and looked at Nora. I leaned down, staring at one side of her stubborn face and said, "That was fun. Let's do it again sometime." I heard a ring of girls giggle as they passed us, and I quickly followed their path out the door before Nora could respond.

Thank goodness for B.L.P.- Biology Last Period. When I first commenced my plans, I thought bio was going to be my least favorite class because of Nora. However, bio surprised me, Nora surprised me, the human experience surprised me.

In Heaven, there were irrefutable rules and punishments. They were austere, and to break a rule was normally unheard of despite our free will. Humans used to abide by the same austere rules, especially during the Middle Ages when human faith in God was vital to surviving through the plague and brutal warfare. Foolishly, I forgot that the same fear and faith didn't apply in debauched modern times where free will and hypocrisy always prevailed over a fear of an omnipotent divine being. The disparity between Heaven and earth was refreshing, and it only augmented my desire to become human.

The fresh spring air hit me as soon as I stepped out of the school. I didn't know what to do with my afternoon. It was two-thirty, I had no work, Bo's would be empty for a few hours. _Would this be another day of doing homework_? I asked myself, dreading the thought. One day of homework was enough for me. I sat on my bike, going over what homework I had. English – Pick a quote from _Catcher _and find a free-choice book to read. I could do that right before class. Math – do problems 6-56 evens for section 5.3. No one ever checks math homework. History – study for a quiz. History was my best subject so studying was crossed of my list. Bio – chapter seven. What was chapter seven even on?

I dug my bio book out of my bag, and flipped through the glossy pages until I found chapter seven. I took one look at the pictures and shut the book with a loud snap. No, thank you, Coach. I'd rather not read through twenty pages of cartoon porn. I tossed the book back into my bag, wishing Nora was here. At least she provided entertainment value.

I started up my bike with no particular plans, intending on zooming around town for fun. Maybe Coldwater had some sort of carnival going on for the heck of it. The worst possible outcome of exploring Coldwater would be finding nothing and being bored.

Most of Coldwater was boring. The route from the high school was the same route that held the exit to I-95. Not many took the exit ramp into Coldwater, and only a few cars left Coldwater. It was a quiet day; the section of the highway that was visible to me was almost abandoned with only a few cars whizzing by now and then. The school's road merged into Main Street, where I passed the Town Hall, its lawn covered in a spectrum of flowers. Most of the town was a blur to me, the colors meshing together to form a poor excuse for a rainbow.

A red light had me sliding to a halt, giving me enough time to notice a rather nice building. It looked a bit like Monticello, except in the middle of downtown Coldwater. It was across from the courthouse, but that building was much uglier. Monticello's red bricks stuck out against the green landscape and white Doric columns. Outside there was a little pavilion with the same columns. A marble statue sat in the front lawn, enjoying the day and the beauty of the building. I followed an arrow that corresponded to the word PARKING in bright white letters.

I drove down a dark tunnel, wondering how such a nice structure could have such a creepy parking lot. It was this kind of place that murders and shady drug deals happened. Ironically, if crimes really did occur in the parking lot, it would be right under a library and a courthouse. I took a sharp right, occupying the closet parking spot I found.

More arrows pointed me to the library entrance, a dingy metal elevator that reminded me more of a cage than an elevator. I wasn't interested in going into the library. I cared more about the beautiful statue in front of the library. I traced my steps back up to the street, and toward the library's front lawn. There, amid the lush green grass was a little halo of colorful flowers, freshly bloomed in the spring time. And sitting in the middle of the halo, I found a marble angel. Time had obviously worn it down, its wings covered in little patches of dirt and fungus. However, I'm sure that when it was first created it was gorgeous.

Maybe gorgeous was too much of an exaggeration. The angel wasn't a _David_; it wasn't a _Pieta_ or a _St. John_ or a _St. George_. But there was something, not charming, but not discomforting. It was simply intriguing. The statue was sitting, ankles crossed, head resting on his hand. He looked down, wistfully, at the grass below, contemplating. He was a statue, but he could have been an angel sitting on a cloud, staring down at the people on earth, wishing he was a human. The little angel struck a chord somewhere within me, for that little angel looked like the embodiment of my emotions from long ago, from when I was still an angel in Heaven.

The little golden plaque on the front of the statue's pedestal said _Donated by an anonymous donor. Part of Coldwater Public Library's Art Collection._

I wondered if more angels inhabited the library, flying around the shelves on whim, enchanting librarians and other people around. I walked into the library, passing the neo-classic columns. The elderly lady at the checkout counter gave me her best smile and greeted me with a "Hello, dearie. How are you?" Her companion, a middle-aged woman, gave me a cautious look. I ignored Janet, as her nametag said, and directed the conversation toward Martha, the elderly librarian.

"There's a statue of an angel outside," I said, "and it's a part of the library's art collection." I cringed as I talked, feeling like an idiot for the first time in my life. It was silly of me to come into the library because of one dumb statue. I had plans for my existence, things that had to get accomplished. My presence on earth had always had an agenda, one that changed over time, but one that I stuck to. Finding Chauncey to experience humanity, playing pool and poker and getting a job to earn money, coming to Coldwater to become human. Never had I strayed from my plans, but Martha's smile pushed me to continue. "I'm fairly new to the town, so I haven't been here before. Could you direct me toward…" I trailed off, still feeling like a foolish teenage boy.

Martha, still smiling, understood my botched up question, and replied, "Of course, sweetie. The gallery is upstairs; just follow that first aisle until you see the staircase on your left."

I thanked her and set off for the stairs, restraining myself from running out of the building. I was still in earshot of the checkout desk when I heard someone, presumable Janet, say, "I don't like the looks of that boy." Martha's response was, "Really, now Jan. No need to be so negative about such a delightful young boy."

"Delightful my foot," I muttered under my breath. I was more of a menace, a premeditating murderer, and I didn't blame Jan for thinking I was some sort of hoodlum. Yet, I appreciated Martha's sweet grandmother disposition in my time of vulnerability. Vulnerable. Like the rest of human society. It was preposterous to think, even for a second, that I was vulnerable, but I was. That was the feeling that had overcome me only moments before when I was asking about the collection: vulnerability. It was a feeling I would become more acquainted with once I was human.

I almost missed the stair case leading up to the gallery, but there it was, where the librarian told me it would be. I looked recently renovated, if the modern door, tiles and handrails were anything to go by. Whoever renovated must not have like neo-classicism. Going up, I found I was in a small square room, the second floor of the library. A small cupola was in the center of the room, and I assumed it was the center of the building.

I walked around the room, first looking at the paintings hung on the walls, and then looking at the sculptures in the middle of the room. I saw something that looked remarkably like Fra Angelico's _Annunciation_, but not quite as well done. There were some paintings that could have been from the Hudson River School. Most of the paintings were placed in chronological order, the time frame allowing me to journey through my experiences. The collection of art in the room only accounted for a slim sliver of my existence; between the dates of the first piece of art and the last, millions of humans died. When I reached the stairs, I was mildly disappointed; I hadn't found any other rare gems like the angel statue. Yet, the gallery room left me with a chilling reminder that humanity, while beautiful, was short-lived.

I sauntered downstairs, finding it to be no more crowded than when I entered before. I dodged the few people standing in the aisle looking for books, reading a few of the titles off the spines of the books. _The Prince, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Lolita, _all books I remember were popular when they were published.

A book was on the floor, dropped carelessly. I picked it up and tried to find an empty spot on the shelf, however, there wasn't one. I looked at the title, wondering if it was dropped in the wrong section. _Great Expectation_ by Charles Dickens. I've never read Dickens. Well, I never really read anything worth the read. But, there had always been some sort of craze about Dickens as a wonderful author of many different novels, _Great Expectations _being one of them. Perhaps, it was time to read some Dickens and find out if it really lives up to the wonderful reviews. Plus, I had to find a book for that English assignment.

When I walked up to the checkout line, a copy of _Great Expectation_s in hand, Marsha gave me another one of her grandmother smiles, tilting her head over to a set of tables on the other side of the room, pointing at something. I turned around, expecting a painting or statue that I hadn't seen. Instead, I spotted none other than Nora who looked mortified, but couldn't look away from me, a deer in headlights. I gave her a sly grin, as if to say "Well, fancy meeting you here," and she quickly tore her eyes away from mine. I had just found Nora's favorite afterschool spot, and it was painfully predictable: the library.

After checking out Dickens with my non-existent library card, I found the metal elevator, with the full intention of finishing my jaunt around the town. I hopped on my bike, ready to start the engine when my cell phone went off. It was Bill, probably calling from Bo's.

"I'm listening," I answered the phone, starting up my bike.

"You have to get down here," he sounded excited. "You wouldn't believe what this guy's willing to bet!"

I wasn't in the mood for guessing, so I asked. It looked like I was going to win myself a new car.

* * *

_AN: While reading _Hush, Hush_, I __never__ judged Patch as being vulnerable. He was always the super hot fallen angel to me. But, I guess when you're writing, some characters come to life and go "Hey, judging someone isn't usually an accurate perception of what that person does or does not do!_" _And then they take charge and completely change where you're going with the plot. So, if you didn't like the chapter, don't blame me; blame Patch!_

_P.S. If you're one of those people who like to keep up with the quotes at the beginning of the chapters, I have two things to say. 1. I might run out of really good _Paradise Lost_ quotes, so send some my way. 2. This chapter's song is a lot less angsty than the rest, because this chapter portrays a softer Patch._


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